With You
by PrettyPrettyPlease
Summary: Coworkers to lovers, is that possible? A look in on Ariadne and Arthur during their journey in and out and in and out of different phases of friendship and It's definitely not an easy road but it's worth Several jobs and several characters but centered completely on our two May contain T for brief language and possible future
1. Hello

**With You**

**Chapter 1: Hello**

Fischer-Morrow's company dissolved quickly…quietly, not so much. It was the country's favorite news story for months: television, interviews, newspapers, internet polls. It even transcended past the States' borders since they had been a world power. The only news to top it, came in the form of Saito's rise to energy monopolization, a year after the successful Inception.

Cobb and his kids had settled back into a normal routine, though they clung to him. The first couple of months they would cry in the mornings when he dropped them off at school. Separation anxiety was a side effect of his extensive absence. Over time, they trusted that he wasn't going anywhere. After all, when he did, they came with him. He prided in how grown up they had become since he'd left. Philippa was a regular eight year old going on twenty-eight and quite the esteemed ballerina. Dom had had the pleasure of seeing her fifth recital and watch her prance across the stage to accept the little trophy she was awarded for the accomplishment. James who'd just gotten speaking down pat when Cobb skipped town, was spouting out phrases like a pro and starting first grade. Mrs. Miles was able to move back to Paris with Stephen and the two visited four or five times since. Most times they brought Miles' favorite student along, whom the kids adored.

Eames was living comfortably back home in London, after a six month detour in Dubai for good measure. As can be expected he gambled and picked up women on his vacation. Yusuf went back to Mombasa. His underground business constantly needed attention, especially when word got out of his involvement in the job of the millennium. Clientele picked up rapidly and demand for his sedatives from different extraction teams went through the roof. He didn't complain though. It kept him busy in the work he loved. Arthur's whereabouts since the Inception were unknown, as to be expected. There were a few jobs he'd done in between like they all had. He fell off the grid for the necessary time period, most likely in the States. And what of the Architect?  
xxxxxx

The ceremony hadn't lasted _unbearably_ long but they had asked everyone to wait outside the venue while the parties of honor changed clothes. Miles had changed out of his robe and greeted the group first. People flooded out of the doors in waves, none of whom you'd recognize. Until a little farther below the rest were the bouncing brown curls of Ariadne. She'd turned in her robe in favor of a flowing, flowery, coral sundress and respectable wedges. However, the many cords symbolizing her rank and achievements still draped off her shoulders and her graduation cap was still clutched in her hand. Her eyes searched the crowd and first fell upon her grandmother who stood at the exit. Ariadne's face lit up with a million watts and she hugged the one woman shorter than her. "Maman!" The elder of the two's eyes were shining as she told her granddaughter just how proud she was of her in French, bestowing kiss after kiss on her cheek. Standing behind her grandmother was a tall lanky boy in a blazer and docks. His half smile was barely contained as he waited for her to notice, but notice she did. "Alex?"

"Hey graduate," he simpered, "You better thank me for missing Comic-Con to fly up here and see you. My internal clock is royally screwed up." Her younger brother picked her up and squeezed her, handing her a bouquet of pink roses from him. The Architect asked where their parents were and sure enough bounding around the corner with open arms they came. "My daughter is genius!" Her father (who was surprisingly much much taller than you'd assume) handed her another bunch of flowers. "_Our _daughter, Gerard." Her mother nudged her husband and gave Ariadne a squeeze.

The Cobbs waited across the park patiently for Ariadne. Or tried to. Philippa and James started fidgeting as soon as they laid their sweet little eyes on her. Their father had told them it was polite for them to wait and give her family time to congratulate her first. So as soon as her mother let go of her, James escaped Cobb's grip and ran over to her. A skipping Philippa followed. "Ari! Ari! We saw you walk across the stage!" Pleasantly surprised, the (official real-life) Architect knelt in front of the blonde, "Did you?"

"Mhm! And I clapped louder than everyone else!" He stated proudly wrapping his arms around her neck. Her parents laughed and cooed at the cute beings.

"Well thank you, James."

Just then, Philippa came bounding up, "Hey Auntie Ari! Congratulations on your S—sumo Cone Luau thing."

"Thanks!" She laughed at the girl's botched pronunciation of her honors title while Philippa squeezed her tight and kissed her on the cheek.

"Do you like my outfit?" She pointed to a triangle of fabric hanging from her neck, "I'm wearing the scarf you gave me for Christmas!"

She handed James the 'funny shaped hat' he'd been asking about and let him try it on as she answered, "Yeah Pip, looking good. I wish I would've worn mine so we could've matched."

Behind the kids, Cobb and Miles strolled up. Naturally, Cobb handed her a bouquet of flowers from the three of them and Miles offered another bear hug and small bouquet of his own. Ariadne introduced everyone to her Professor and good friend and though there was no introduction needed, the children wanted to be officially presented to her family. After introductions, Cobb offered for the team to take her out for a celebratory dinner the next day to give her the rest of the day with her undoubtedly proud family.

Xxxxxx

It was a beautifully rich sunset the evening the team met up at a restaurant out of city near Versailles. The place they picked for dinner was a favorite of the richer locals and was one of the few eateries that had private dining rooms upon request. It was no surprise that as Ariadne arrived—strolling behind the host—the kids immediately started to fuss over who got to sit by her. First, she hugged Miles, then Dom, then finally smiled down at the jumping beans that showered her with pictures they'd drawn on postcards they bought her. They didn't realize that Ariadne didn't need souvenir pictures from where she lived but the sentiment was there and their cute scribbles were too so she was grateful. "Can I sit by you, Ari?"

"Sure," Ariadne grinned and stuffed her "presents" into her bag, "Will you take my purse and pick us out a spot?"

The blonde girl nodded enthusiastically and proudly put Ariadne's bag over her shoulder. She strutted around the table looking for the perfect seat. "Hey!" whined the blonde boy, "What about me?"

The Architect pointed, "I have two sides don't I?"

Miles interjected, "James, let Philippa and someone else sit next to Ariadne."

"No!" He clung to her leg.

"You can sit next to Uncle Arthur." Cobb compromised with him.

Ariadne face twisted into confusion, "Uncle Arthur?" Was it the same Arthur she was thinking of? Bored-face, killjoy Arthur? The sharp dressed man with the dull sense of humor? James squealed with excitement and satisfactorily went to sit across from his sister to wait. Ariadne, on the other hand, turned to come face to chest with a pressed black suit, pinstripe collared dress shirt and green tie. She slid her eyes up and found herself staring at the Point Man, "Hi…?"

"Good evening." He offered a nod. Yes, it was definitely the one she had in mind. Bored-faced and killer of joys. Add 18th century English speaking to the list. And rat-pack wannabe.

Ariadne's eyes cut to the side to find where Pip had hung her purse over a chair. Maybe she should fish out her totem and tip it right quick. There was no way he'd come on his own. Did Eames trick him? Or did someone talk him into it and drag him over? "What are you doing here?"

"Commemorating your job well done?" Arthur squinted his beady brown eyes and explained it with the least condescension he could. Because, well, this was her graduation dinner from the team, so his appearance was obvious. "I apologize, though. I attended the ceremony but had to step away before I could speak with you afterwards."

What? He'd been to the ceremony? But she hadn't seen him. Not a glimpse. Hadn't felt his pompous, all knowing presence. Or the tall, dark and handsome presence she didn't want to admit got her flustered sometimes. (That part of him belonged to an alter ego, she was pretty sure.) Had he been sitting with Cobb? How did he even know she was graduating? Then again, he _was _Arthur. "You were there?" She didn't even try to hide the shock and disbelief in her tone.

One of his eyebrows rose, "Yes. Why does that fact surprise you?" He knew exactly why.

Arthur had not received an invitation from her. The only reason he'd known about her graduation was through his own research, checking up on her. He found her name in the database and a digital copy of the general invitation. It being such a big deal for her to graduate with her degree and being an important day for her, he thought it amiable to be there. Especially since he considered himself somewhat of a mentor to her in dreamshare. He wouldn't have to make himself known. He would merely show up, watch her walk, smile to himself and travel back to the States. So imagine his surprise when he showed up in the arena and saw Cobb and his family sitting proudly in the audience. Cobb and his spidey senses (he was still paranoid) had felt eyes on his family and spotted Arthur right away then called him over to sit with them. Entirely flabbergasted he came, Cobb asked if Arthur had heard if Eames had landed yet and what he thought of the invitation, briefly laughing and sharing that he'd had to make a copy of her picture because the kids had fought over who could keep it. Said they insisted her invite be on the fridge. James kept her picture on his bedside table by the drawing pad she got him and Philippa kept it in her Hello Kitty wallet to take wherever she went to brag about her Auntie Ari. As if hearing them, Philippa agreed and pulled out the picture excitedly, "See? She looks so pretty in this picture…what did you do with your picture, Uncle Arthur?" To which he replied, "I didn't get one." Philippa aww'ed and offered for her father to make a copy of it. While Cobb (feeling awkward then) asked if he was sure…because she had sent one to Yusuf (he couldn't make it but sent his regards and a lovely card) and Eames (who apparently was on a flight over to see it)…maybe his got lost in the mail…

Or not. Arthur reminded him: Ariadne and the Point weren't on close terms. Of course she wouldn't invite him, he didn't mean much to her- Her voice brought him back from the earlier events of the day, "Well, not that you're not welcome but I just—I didn't invite you."

"Oh I know." His humorless laugh bubbled forth before his stony façade reclaimed his features, "May I ask why I was the only member of The Team that didn't receive an invitation?"

She brought her hand to the back of her neck and started to rub it, "I actually _had _an invitation for you but I—" She fidgeted with the umpire waistline of her dress and stuttered out her answer. Ariadne felt put on the spot but knew she deserved to be there, "chickened out at the last second because honestly, I was sure you wouldn't come. I thought you'd probably throw it away." The woman shrugged with a false sense of indifference, "It would've been a waste of tree."

A reaction to her answer didn't show in Arthur's body language or facial expression. And good luck to the person who tried to find a fluctuation in his tone when he asked, "What would give you that idea?" Inside, however, (though he expected nothing different from her in her reply) he was offended she'd think he would ignore her or throw it away. Surely, she didn't remember him as being rude or cold to her during Inception…right?

"You?" Ariadne had already accepted the matter and the nervousness left her when she went back to stating her brutally honest thoughts, "I know you don't like keeping ties with people. An invitation felt personal and you tend to avoid things like that."

"My friendship with Cobb has lasted nearly nine years." He stated it as a fact in the encyclopedia. Whether it was meant to be defensive or not, she couldn't tell. Ariadne couldn't ever tell anything around him.

"Cobb's special, obviously." On cue, she met the Extractor's eyes and he attempted to smile and wave while telling James to put up his silverware and reminding Philippa to sit on her bottom and wait to take out her drawing pad after they ordered.

(And yet, Arthur was here. Celebrating the Architect's graduation, a thing he would never normally do. So wasn't she obviously a bit special as well? He wouldn't make that point.)

When Ariadne turned back to Arthur he was holding out a small-ish blue envelope with her name clearly and cursively dancing across it. Even his handwriting looked strict…the strokes didn't flow, they cut like numbers. "Here," said he, as flat as the table behind them or the wood on the floor.

Ariadne sarcastically thought to herself how sweet it was that he was shoving a card in her face with a visage and tone like someone had just died. He _did _find a way to be pessimistic about everything. He probably saw her momentous day of graduation and liberty as the death of her education. An eternal goodbye to her Universite. Arthur _was _wearing black, wasn't he? She bit back her snort. "A card too?" The Architect's eyebrows raised; she feigned excitement and he could tell she was mocking him. Not that she didn't appreciate him showing up or thought the card was beneath her. In fact, on the inside she was pretty ecstatic that he'd materialized at her celebratory dinner. What she didn't appreciate was his uncaring and aloof way of going about it. It was almost as if he showed up just because he _hadn't _received an invitation and wanted to prove a point that he could find out anyway. Ariadne didn't appreciate that the card was just a formality; Arthur was too proper and too much of a gentleman to show up without anything to give. "You've outdone yourself, Arth—"

Two giant, rough hands covered her eyes and the stench of Old Spice (in excess) filled her senses, "Guess who?" The British accent was undeniable too. It was kind of cheating to 'guess'.

"EAMES!" She pulled his hands off her eyes, turned with lightheartedness and comfortably dove into his all-encompassing, teddy bear-like embrace. The Forger lifted her off her tip toes and choked her with enthusiasm, "I'm so sorry I couldn't make it to your graduation, Peanut. My flight was delayed! I envisioned every bit of it."

"Oh, it's fine." She waved off as he put her down. "I still did the twirl for you before I stepped off the stage though." Arthur remembered that. After she'd accepted the diploma, shook hands with the dean and others, before she descended down the stairs on the other side she'd thrown in a twirl. "You owe me fifty bucks."

"I'm pitching in to buy your dinner, aren't I?"

"True, true."

"Have you missed me?" Eames effortlessly asked the question. The Parisian rolled her eyes and rested her hand on her heart melodramatically, "With every cell in my body…obviously…"

Eames pointed to his cheek demandingly, "Then where's my kiss?" Ariadne obliged and bestowed a loud kiss on his stubbly cheek. Arthur stood there bunglingly and watched the exchange. He found interest in the artwork on the walls by the table to forget the warm interaction she offered the Forger and how it could've but never would be the way she greeted Arthur. To entertain the idea of it was inappropriate. Eames on the other hand skillfully revealed a bouquet of sunflowers from behind his back, "These are for you. Best in the shop I assure you." Eames threw in a wink, "Now where are you sitting? I claim your side."

"Oh, where the red purse is." He looked and made his way over there, taking the flowers back and promising to put them over there for her. Arthur watched the Forger with disdain. The British man was always so conceited; he believed he was God's gift to women. Of course he needed the undivided attention of the only woman in the party. Next he'd be sweet talking Philippa… "Well isn't this a beauteous young lass? Dominic Cobb, why didn't you tell me you had a princess in our company tonight?"

Oh lord….

With the Graduate's attention back on Arthur, her mouth formed a close lipped smile and started to rip open the envelope. (Expecting that's the reason he'd waited out her greeting with the bane of his existence). Arthur, however, clasped the unopened side to stop her. "Read it later." He was feeling outdone by Eames and he hated that feeling. In hindsight, he reprimanded himself furiously. Flowers after her big day would've been most appropriate. Traditional. It was basic protocol for graduation, damn it. Nothing more than a nice thought. She wouldn't have read anything into it…not with all the other gifts and arrangements presented to her. Arthur didn't even include a check or gift card in the envelope. Why had he overthought this? Arthur didn't portray a gentlemanly friend who'd thought about her. Instead, he looked like the cheap asshole who'd sprung for a card in convenience just so he would have something, anything, to proffer.

For what must have been the millionth time since he'd shown up, the snarky Architect lifted her brows at him. This time in amusement, though. Why would he care if she read it now? It was probably no more than one sentence with as little meaning as humanly possible and a scrawled 'A' at the bottom for a signature.

The only seat unoccupied once Arthur returned from the bathroom was across from Eames in between Cobb and James. When he sat, was the first time the Brit had even noticed his presence. Why, lord, why couldn't the Point Man have remained invisible to Eames the entire night? "Arthur…?" His eyes narrowed and looked to Cobb in askance. "What are you doing here? This is a _friends' _get-together. You don't have friends."

"Mr. Eames…" Miles scolded.

The former unfolded his napkin and placed it in his lap, "What? I can't be the only one shocked he showed up. Aren't you, darling?" his elbow poked the Architect.

She felt the awkward tension hanging in the air and avoided eyes by opening the menu and scanning, "A little." She did look at Arthur though, "I mean you're the only one I haven't seen all year…Which makes sense," She defended for him, "It is _you." _ Shrugging, the woman smoothed everything over by asking, "What have you been up to since Inception?"

Arthur swallowed, "A few jobs…mostly laying low." After a sip of his _water _(how bland must a person be?), he put an end to the conversation before it started by unfolding his menu in front of his face.

Ariadne smirked at Cobb and joked, "Of course, he'd answer vaguely, right?" Cobb forced a laugh.

Dinner was enjoyable. Ariadne constantly giggled and blushed at the onslaught of praise. Miles was undoubtedly a proud Professor: speaking of her as his protégé, how he knew she had it in her, how he couldn't wait to see the great things she was yet to accomplish, how he was her biggest fan. Ariadne dutifully played Tic Tac Toe with Philippa and answered Eames' nosy questions. And once they all felt full and satisfied, Miles bid her a goodbye and took the yawning kids back to the hotel while Eames ordered a round of drinks. From there she was teased with the prospect of a new job.

It was the perfect ending to the perfect day. She got a license to build in reality and the opportunity to once again build in the dream. After tipping her totem repeatedly, Ariadne took a shower, slipped into her polka dot pajama pants and Universite t-shirt (now it was just a memory of another closed chapter in her life) and then put a pot of Camomille tea on the stove. As she waited for the kettle to boil, she clipped the stems off of her flowers (the millions) and set them in vases on her bookshelf. Well, two were in vases. As a college student she hadn't owned much. In fact, she didn't even own those…her roommate Elise loved plants and left a few vases behind when she moved to Barcelona last semester. The last bouquet (Eames' sunflowers) were cut real short and propped up in the tallest glass she could find. The tv was turned on to some old reruns of a French sitcom, when the kettle's whistle blew. Ariadne poured the beverage into her bright red mug (she had every color of the rainbow now. They had been the first thing she bought after the money from Inception had been wired to her account. Before the job, she had only been able to afford one and the handle on it had broken. Since her love and/or addiction to coffee and tea could not be extinguished, she had stubbornly kept using the mug and it's stub of an arm. Needless to say, once she had the money, she promptly found a rainbow set of mugs and cherished them more than a normal person would appreciate.) and added some sugar. It was warm and cozy to snuggle into her sofa, wrap her heavy blanket around her and sip. On one of the commercials, Ariadne's eyes slid to her red sling and remembered the blue envelope that waited inside. Curious as to which generic phrase Arthur had chosen… (_Congratulations, Ariadne_ or _You've got a bright future ahead.) _perhaps Arthur opted to leave nothing but the printed words and the one letter that signified his name. Pigs would fly the day she could wheedle the second initial out of him. So, the Architect was largely taken aback when she found not one string of cliché words but a small paragraph in Arthur's careful handwriting. Careful. Yes, it wasn't so clear cut and shapeless…it was just _careful. _Precise. He'd taken his time. Ariadne took another sip of her tea and set it down to focus her attention on the note:

_To Ariadne, on your Graduation Day._

_Sincere congratulations. Your hard work and dedication have most certainly paid off; I pity the people who've ever doubted your abilities. The world as well as this team is lucky that you've decided to share your talents with it and I look forward to seeing what many more accomplishments you achieve, hopefully with the honor of it being firsthand. You must be extremely proud of yourself. I admit that I am._

_-A_

If Ariadne didn't know any better, she would say that she'd detected a warmth, however subtle, in his card that had not been present at dinner…which might've been her fault; she never sent an invitation and he felt slighted. (Did Arthur feel? That theory wasn't very strong.) She would've been upset too. (Then again she was a humanoid therefore different.) The Arthur that signed the card seemed a little more like the Arthur who'd comforted her after her first stabbing with Mal. The Arthur who tricked a kiss out of her in the second level and was a continuous reassurance for a week in the first. The Arthur that _didn't _piss her off…the Arthur that she secretly had a little…interest in. The girl read the card over again and then propped it on her coffee table, exchanging it for her mug.

Xxxxxxx

Yay for new stories! Reviews make the world go round.


	2. Strange Attractor

Huge thanks for the support and encouragement at the start of this story! _Lazarus76: _ Haha, I hope you do! _Lauraa-x: _Thanks, that's great. Poor Arthur? Nah he's an asshole. Just kidding. He's just cold and socially inept. I mean she was going to invite him! She was being considerate in not forcing personal things on him because she knows he doesn't like anything personal. But I agree with you (even if Ariadne doesn't) it was cute he came. _cinematherapy: _Promising is a happy, happy word to hear. And thank God, I wrote that note like twelve times trying to make it sound as Arthur-esque as possible. _lilachiccups: _Why is everyone saying poor Arthur? He wasn't that affected by it. Just a little snuffed. Which shouldn't be surprising to him, he acts like he wants nothing to do with anyone he's not currently working with. I agree that Eames is mean though. :P stfu Eames. Well here it is! Haha.

Special thanks to Story Followers: _butternubs1, Lauraa-x, lilachiccups, Kiluca1228. _Story Favorite-ers: _Lauraa-x _and _Kiluca1128. _And special special thanks to my Author Alert and Favorites, it's my honor really: _SiJiuYi-491 _and _mazeygrace18._

**Chapter 2: Strange Attractor**

Down to business. At the restaurant, all they could say was that there was another job. One which Cobb would exclusively come out of retirement for, one that the Inception team would hopefully be reunited for. Ariadne accepted with wide eyes before the second sentence spewed out of Cobb's mouth. She was giddy with excitement over working again, already thinking up mazes and paradoxes in her head…She had dutifully kept her promise to Miles, steering clear of the dream share world until after graduation. The only information she could needle out of them was that they were meeting in November in LA and they could brief her then. Not before. Not at all.

Ariadne bear-hugged the lot of them (minus Arthur. She saluted him because she suspected he'd break out in stress induced hives if she touched him) upon arriving at their meeting destination. Their mark was CEO for a high-end automobile company whose nightlife (and side involvement in the drug-ring) was worrying his family. You could call this job a high-paid intervention. The team would do the dirty work in his mind to pull information about it and hopefully plant some seeds of guilt in Mr. Summerford. The family would take that information to the authorities to bust the entire organization. Cobb and Arthur had done two weeks of preliminary research before the rest of the gang flew in.

The team was gathered around Ariadne's table. Passed the preliminary stage, the team was finally into brainstorming and production. Pictures were ripped out of architecture and design magazines in columns, taking up the entirety of her workspace. There were three columns naturally: one for every level of the dream. And a slip of paper labeling each as Yusuf, Eames and Arthur in her bubbly hand. Below Yusuf's there remained a picture of beachy California; pictures of the Santa Monica pier, houses on the scenic cliffs and old warehouses like the one they were standing in stacked under it. Evidently, the team had decided the first level would be a blend of them. Their attention was on Eames' column.

"I'm not sure a casino would be in our best interests either." Cobb stated, picking up all the cut outs that had to do with such an establishment.

The Architect's eyebrows furrowed, "Doesn't his uncle own a casino?"

"Yes but he rarely goes to it or any for that matter." Arthur replied for Cobb since he was the authority on information regarding the mark, anyway. "He wouldn't be real comfortable in that atmosphere." She sighed in answer. They'd been going at this for a few hours now and agreeing on anything had been scarce.

"What about a park or garden of some sort?" Yusuf offered…picking up a picture of Central Park.

Ariadne shot it down quick, "It would be hard to make that safe for us and still have a sense of normalcy. It might turn out like Alice in Wonderland."

"And how would we justify getting him under again in an open park?" Eames brought out.

"Wait for him to fall asleep watching the clouds." Yusuf was one to favor the outdoors. Cobb shook his head at the idea.

"Yeah, not good for the time constraints." Arthur added as he regarded the girl. Air blew through her cheeks and she face palmed. Yusuf chuckled and patted her on the back. The five had been going at it for hours and she was ready to pull her hair out before they decided on the first level. She clearly wasn't one for patience…Arthur noticed her foot tapping by the leg of the desk.

"I like this." A picture containing neon lights, a dance floor and mahogany wood was held up by the Forger very close to Ariadne's face. She leaned back to uncross her eyes, took the picture and swatted him on the shoulder. After moving some things around, she cleared a spot for them to study the picture. "That's a club in Paris actually: La Boisson Rouge."

"Club…" The blue flecks in Cobb's eyes lightened at the word. He rubbed his chin (and the five o' clock shadow there), as he so often did when an idea struck him… "That could be useful. Does he go clubbing often, Arthur?"

"Frequently. A friend of his owns one, he's there a lot, was a benefactor in the early stages of its opening. Causes quite the scandal at clubs every now and then."

"So club could work?" There was so much hope in the Architect's words when she turned to Arthur. Relief danced around in her eyes. The Point Man affirmed with a nod, "Club could work."

Arthur's curious interest in the tiny Parisian woman multiplied when in her company. She was increasingly more thought-provoking than she'd been during the Fischer job. He'd held the highest respect for her since the first dream world he'd witnessed her build. He was taught to always be caring and thoughtful with women. To treat them as the gentler sex not the dumber one. So naturally he was prone to be more protective and accommodating to her than to the other men on the team. And it wasn't like every man on the team didn't have a soft spot for the girl—the Point wouldn't ever call it a 'soft-spot' where he was concerned however. He would say that she impressed him and should she ever be in danger, he wouldn't turn his head. He would probably step in. His hand instinctively flexed to release some tension and he tuned in in time to hear Eames' arrogantly taunt him,"Ahhhh and now for the most imaginative person present." He meant of course that they were moving on to pick what Arthur's level would be. He wouldn't be Eames if he didn't add a jibe to Arthur's creativity.

"Where would you go from a club…?" Cobb's eyes were downcast again. He had less worry lines on his forehead than he'd had a year ago.

"Don't forget we need catharsis." Yusuf reminded the group, "A reason to quit."

Arthur's eyes skimmed the photos she'd suggested for his level…they rested on a hospital looking building where her fingers were resting on top of the picture, galloping away. Ariadne started, "A rehab center. Think about it: The Californian coast. He gets beat up at the warehouse, goes home. His family misses him, wants him to stop cause they're worried. Wife gives him an ultimatum after seeing what it's doing to him. He doesn't listen and goes clubbing. We slip something into his drink or cocaine so when he slips out and then down further—"

"-He wakes up in a rehab center like he blacked out—went too far." Eames finished for her, almost breathy in tone, "Hopefully realizes that the life his work involves him in truly is bad for him. That's brilliant."

"I try…" The cheeky grin was back and her shoulder gave a shrug.

Cobb nodded and high fived her, "Great. Good game plan. Everyone agree?" Nods came from every head so he started delegating jobs, "So you start on level one, I'll head under and train, Arthur can you—"

"I'll have the starter files of the family ready for everyone within the hour." He grabbed his laptop bag and began power walking to his desk, ready for the intense work to begin. This is where the fun began: when planning was coming to a close and the bulk of the work was under way. Not that Arthur didn't enjoy planning, he loved himself some good preparation and scheduling. There was a hand on his shoulder, he turned.

"Can you get me a picture of his house in long beach?" Ariadne stared expectantly back at him.

"I can get you hundreds. Give me ten minutes."

xxxxxxx

Two days in, they were going investigating. There were warehouses (empty, Arthur made sure) in a small community near Orange County that Arthur found would be helpful in creating the feel needed for the dream. It was important since a warehouse would be fundamental in the first half of level one. If the mark was to believe he was indeed being punished and beaten in an establishment owned by dealers on the West Coast, the Architect as well as Yusuf (who would officially dream up the level once designed) would need a thorough understanding of the type of institution. They'd go, check it out, maybe snap some pictures and be on their way.

They rode in the same car. A rented black SUV was big enough to hold the five team members. (Cobb wanted to come along in case anything changed, dreamers had to be rearranged and he had to fill in. Eames just didn't want to be left out.) To Arthur's dismay, the rest of the group chatted about un-work related matters during the car ride. Ariadne wanted Cobb to take them to that Mel's Diner place he'd taken her before for a team dinner sometime while they were there. Fifteen minutes of the journey was spent describing the menu and décor to the Chemist and Forger. Yusuf wanted to blab about the second building he bought for his business. On one hand, yes, it was splendid that his business had become successful. On the other, it was distracting. And Eames…he wanted to discuss Prince George. The cooing from Ariadne and Yusuf was just too much to handle. At last, the car pulled up to a dilapidated looking establishment. Rusted and greening in the corners, moss growing up the sides. The roof of the warehouse was half caved in on itself. It didn't help bring levity that it was dusk and the first shadows of night were looming over it as well. Yusuf was the first to hop out from the backseat. The Chemist deadpanned, "Well that looks promising..."

"Oh for heaven's sake…" Eames slid out to the sounds of Arthur's passenger door closing and Cobb turning the car off. He waited for Ariadne to slide out after him before closing the door. Eames returned her wary look, "Why did you drag us here again?"

Arthur refrained from retorting that he hadn't dragged Eames there. The Forger insisted on coming. He had no real reason to join them and so shouldn't be complaining for what he whined to be included in on. Instead, he answered diplomatically while coming round the front of the car, "Research for the make-up of the dreams. This is the type of place Mr. Summerford would use for his…second business." Arthur was slightly (who are we kidding—completely) annoyed by the question because he'd briefed them all on the location before any of them walked out the warehouse door and got into the vehicle. He hated redundancy.

Cobb gave Arthur a wince, "We couldn't have Googled pictures?"

The Point shook his head, "It's all about the feel, not the looks, remember?" He ignored Eames mumbling into Ariadne's ear, "the feel is creepy and dead, ok?" And evenly explained, "It's best to be prepared."

"Then you go in first." Eames challenged, pointing to the ominous structure.

Arthur rolled his eyes, "Suck it up, Mr. Eames." And led the way in.

As soon as they stepped in, the gang had to cover their noses and mouths. The Architect may have adversely commented first, her voice sounding nasal from pinching her nostrils closed, "It smells like cat pee and nail polish remover in here…"

The rest of the boys collectively grimaced when Arthur reached and pulled a lever to power on the lights. Ariadne and Yusuf cowered (the girl behind Eames) when two of the lights sparked and blew out because of disuse. "We are in LA," Cobb chimed, "I wouldn't be surprised if someone's used this warehouse as a meth lab."

"Perfect," Still nasal, she joked, "I felt like blowing up tonight." It truly disappointed the Point Man that she was falling under Eames' influence and joining in on making fun of the warehouse. He expected more from her. At her graduation dinner she seemed scores more mature than he remembered and now long exposure to Eames had deduced her mindset to that of a bored teenager with arrogance.

Eames smirked at her (shouldn't be encouraging the sardonic behavior, damn him, but what did Arthur anticipate?) and gestured out the open windows to their left, "Not too chilly, slight breeze, lots of stars out…" He strolled (breaking a beer bottle with his shoe on accident) "wonderful night for a hole in my face."

"Pretty picture," Yusuf mocked.

"We'll look like works of Picasso by the end of the night, I assure you." Eames winked at Yusuf in front of him and then jutted Ariadne's rib with his elbow. She held back a laugh and struggled to plaster on an attentive and concentrated gaze because Arthur's disapproving glare shot back at them from the head of the pack. Sometimes she swore that her, Eames and Yusuf were little kids. Especially now, as the three of them quietly jested and giggled back and forth where the other two couldn't hear them—like they were eight year olds on a fieldtrip and Cobb and Arthur were their chaperones who kept having to turn around and shush them.

The stench got stronger the deeper into the building they went and Ariadne wouldn't have said anything but she had a stubborn feeling in her gut that something was off. When Ariadne had an inkling about something she was usually right. Despite the light joshing she and the boys tried to distract themselves with, the whole set up was scaring her. "Can we go back? I think I have a sufficient feel for this place. I'll just build a world that freaks me out."

Yusuf readily concurred, "Yes. I feel well-versed in the menacing aura of the building as well. Let's go to Mel's."

Arthur couldn't be blamed. He was trying to get something accomplished and all he heard were whispers and laughs behind him. Knowing Eames, all they were doing was demeaning his research and making fun of him as always. This was a favor to them, to the entire group. Sure, he could've printed pictures off of Google but having a real life look at the kind of place you were trying to create was the kind of inspiration needed to be successful. "Look, I'm sick of the negativity. There's no need for that attitude," reprimanded the Point after pivoting on a dime. He was only trying to be helpful after all.

The girl tried to defend herself, "I don't ha-"

"All I've heard for the past half hour are facetious remarks and disrespect." Arthur had never stared at her so hard before but he'd had enough. Arthur hadn't even felt remorse when she leant back away from him, "I'm sick of it." The Architect had witnessed the butt of his anger when it was directed at Eames and one rare time when it was directed at Cobb but she'd never been on the receiving end. It was scary. And infuriating. But mostly scary.

"Arthur." Eames attempted to come to her rescue with reason.

"You all need to grow up." He condescendingly looked at each of them and then chose to ignore the lot, "Cobb, let's take a look at that blueprint on the wall back here."

The forger's eyes rolled as he patted the girl's back, "Got a permanent stick up his ass, that one." When Arthur's hateful stare shot back at him, he met it full on. Arthur was good at his job but he took everything too seriously and he was too hard on their Parisian friend.

Xxxxxx

The troublemaker group of three casually separated after being scolded to look the large space over. Yusuf perused by the vined over windows and Ariadne lingered close to Eames as he ventured back past the stationary Point and Extractor. They stood (the blonde with hands on hips, the other with arms crossed) and looked over the layout. Arthur took out his phone and snapped a photo, "She'll be thankful for a picture of this blueprint when she gets to designing." He ran his finger along a drawn path, "The blue lines indicate escape paths. See how it leads out under the street and along the road?" His phone went back in his jacket pocket.

"Are you sure?" Cobb looked at the symbol key in the bottom corner, talking more to himself, "What is the red line for then?"

"The electricity maybe or," Aha! The red was marked as, "the gas line."

Dom nodded and looked down at a half ripped up tile on floor. The wires that ran through were clearly visible. Furrowing his brow, the Extractor knelt down, "Art. What color wire was the electricity?"

There was a hum as the Point looked and then, "Black."

"We've got to get out now." Cobb stood gravely and called to the others, "Everyone out! Stat!" Yusuf looked over, practically there already. The paranoia in him was prevalent enough that he dropped the piece of sheetrock he was examining and marched towards the exit. Eames signaled a thumbs up for him and Ariadne and started hauling butt. Arthur was looking at him concerned. Dom grabbed his friend's elbow and drug him out while blurting, "You turned the lights on when we came in…and the black and blue wires have been twisted together. That means you turned on the gas as well. Gas line plus meth lab equals…"

"Run!" called the Point as he snatched his elbow out of the Extractor's and shoved him forward, picking up speed. He and Cobb barely made it out before the back of the warehouse went kablooey. The front caved in and the whole thing set fire. The car was parked far enough down the street that it was only scratched by debris. Cobb had been thrown and skidded south of the building. His pants had holes where the knees were and he had nasty scratches on his knees, hands and the left side of his forehead but he was good. Eames and Yusuf were out a safe distance before the explosion so they had minor cuts and burns from debris. Arthur had been thrown close to the car. He would have a huge bruise on his shoulder blade and there was a small incision on his right cheek and shoulder but he was good too. "Everyone ok?" Yusuf (and the doctor in him) was first to recover and call out. Eames came back with a "Yup!" Arthur grunted, "I'm fine!" Cobb groaned, "Will be…"

Yusuf looked around, "Ariadne?" The other men fought to sit up or maneuver around to search for her in her silence.

"Oh shit…" They all heard the Forger cuss and then rush for a clump of sheetrock in the middle of the street, "Shit!" Forgetting their individual wounds, they each found a way to cluster around Eames and the object he was pulling off of the small girl, "You alright, love?" He bent down instantly and pulled her into his lap. Yusuf crouched next him. Ariadne's scarf was singed off and a small lesion graced the area normally covered by it. It wasn't big. The problem—the reason she was gripping her arm and had no speaking capability above a pained groan—was, "My God…there's a shard of metal in her arm." The Chemist held his hand out to guide their eyes to the spot but didn't touch it because his gloves were in the SUV. Cobb growled and covered and the back of his hand went to his forehead (because the front was pretty shredded from the gravel.) Immediately, Arthur's guilt set in and he crouched down as well. Ariadne looked down at her arm, and then squeezed her eyes shut with a gasp.

"You don't like the sight of blood, I take it?" Eames asked to get her mind off of it.

Her head shook tensely and she gritted, "No. It's just hurts like hell."

Cobb grunted, "Get her into the car. We'll have to tend to it on the way to the warehouse. The cops will be here any minute and if they get a whiff of us…" If they found them there, they would no doubt want to search the black SUV they were in. And when their possession of a PASIV and Somnacin was discovered—it wouldn't be good news.

Arthur and Eames helped her back into the car while Yusuf dashed to grab the first aid kit and have it ready in the back. Cobb hopped into the front seat and got the engine going. Ariadne laid with her back against Eames' chest again while Yusuf carefully extracted the shrapnel. "Breathe, Ariadne," coached the Chemist but she found it hard to do anything but crush the hand of the Forger with her good arm and let out a continuous groan. She met the Point Man's eyes once while he watched the procedure over his seat. He didn't need to say anything for her to know he felt sorry.

Xxxxxx

"How are you feeling?" The bubbly brunette approached Arthur's desk at half past ten, leaning her hip against the old cherry wood and crossing one arm. (Her hurt one stayed straight and she comfortably clutched it with her good side at the elbow. It was a natural position for her arms anyway.) He should be asking _her_ that. She got the worse injuries of them all from the debacle. This morning though she looked completely different from the night—sweaty, bleeding and shocked—she was unbelievably chipper.

"Fine." He didn't make eye contact with her. His brown orbs were focused on his computer and his mouth barely opened as he made his reply. Not that he was ever in the mood for high-spirited small talk but he was especially opposed to it today and not just because his bruise made it hurt to breathe.

"Ok." It sounded merry enough that he thought she believed it but anticipated her wandering off too soon because she added, "And how are you _really _feeling?" with a cock of her head.

"I'm fine, Ariadne." Arthur chanced a glance and regretted it instantly. Both her eyebrows were raised and her mouth was quirked into this surly line that made him want to—hit something. Just the way she looked at him…ugh it was like she could read his mind and emotions and wouldn't have any of his bullshit. Like she was rubbing it in his face. It was amusing when she was doing it to Cobb but when the shoe was on his foot it bothered the snot out of him…but of course, his face remained neutral. "Do you need something?"

She dropped the cocky expression- realized she wasn't going to get anything out of him with it and wondered why she thought she'd try. She looked away from him for a second; not for any reason just curious as to what everyone else was doing. _Always curious, that girl. _It wasn't something too urgent if her nonchalant loitering round his desk was taken into account, Arthur thought. Since she seemed to have taken interest in something else for the moment, he reasoned he could wave her off and focus back on the search engine he was on."Just wanted to check up on you; we had a rough night yesterday."

"Well, I appreciate the curiosity but I've got research that needs attending to." He only half heard her sentence and rushed into his reply which was a clipped phrase indicating he'd ended the conversation. He didn't see for the screen in front of him but Ariadne furrowed her eyebrows and looked him over. There was no way he was 'fine.' And she would've opened her mouth and pushed further but the warehouse door slung open and Eames' voice echoed through.

"Order's up! I've got breakfast."

With one last look that wasn't reciprocated, Ariadne left Arthur's sullen company and went where everyone was congregating: in the lounge like set up at the forefront of the warehouse. It was a run down, make due couch, a couple lawn chairs like the ones set up for dreaming, and a bean bag that Eames and Yusuf childishly fought over all the time. Cobb usually rolled his computer chair over so everyone had a seat. There was however a nice, low, glass coffee table Arthur and Cobb had found at Goodwill for dirt cheap so they wouldn't have to hold their plates or mugs in their laps. But that morning for breakfast, the team had too much to recheck and reroute considering the night previous to have a relaxing meal together so Eames set the bag of food on the coffee table and pulled out everyone's orders and change for them to pick up and take back to their respective workspaces.

Yusuf had practically run to the Forger when his presence was announced, "Thanks Eames," he eagerly snatched his omelet and coffee and scurried away. The Extractor on the other hand took his time to saunter to the front of the warehouse and waited patiently for Eames to read the wrappers, "God it smells good," but not before smiling at Ariadne who patiently waited as well. Putting aside his own few breakfast burritos first, the Brit came to Cobb's order at last: hash browns and a sausage biscuit, that particular morning. Dom had to grab them lightly because even with bandaged hands, they hurt with too much pressure (or heat). Then the bag was shoved closer to Ariadne and Eames picked up his meal, "Everything left is yours I guess, Shortie. You sure do eat one hell of a lot for such a tiny thing…" After asking which of the two drinks left was the pumpkin spice latte and which was black, she grabbed the remaining food and headed back the way she came, thanking Eames over her shoulder like everyone else.

"Ariadne." Arthur couldn't stand extra things on his desk. He had a specific order and layout so that he knew where everything was and clutter was reduced to a minimum. If someone so much as moved a highlighter and didn't put it back, it tended to bother him. (Which is why that was one of Eames' favorite pastimes.) So when—as walking past his desk—Ariadne set down a wrapped biscuit, a yogurt parfait and a coffee cup on the side and kept going with no intention of coming back for it, he called out. After all, he had not asked Eames to get him anything. He didn't have time to eat. He shoved in a granola bar somewhere around five thirty that morning. He had to make sure there were no other fallacies in the rest of the research he'd documented and printed for the team. That was another reason he hadn't ordered anything. He was still being rough on himself about his mistake and thus drowned in work and ignored the team out of embarrassment. He's Arthur—he's not supposed to make mistakes. Not huge ones that end up injuring his team. He should've researched the warehouse better before taking them all down to explore it. And especially before reprimanding their judgment of it.

"Hm?" The Architect returned and set the bag of remaining breakfast items on the ground by one of the legs of his desk (thank God it wasn't the top or the grease would be everywhere_.)_

He held up the yogurt cup, "Is this yours?"

"No," She shook her head as if to reaffirm, "I ordered it for you."

"For what reason?"

She shrugged, "Because I know you...well kind of…" she rephrased, "I know you enough to know when you're beating yourself up over not being perfect. And I have a good guess that you pulled an all-nighter last night…" she nodded her head to the small bin under his desk, "_And _apparently," the waved her hand towards him, "you get extra cranky when you haven't had your coffee…so…I thought you needed a pick me up."

As he listened to her explanation, Arthur unwrapped the biscuit to discover it was bacon, egg and cheese and glanced to find that the yogurt was blueberry and the coffee was black. When she was finished, she waited for him look everything over. She could see the disbelief in the new height of his eyebrows when The Point met her eyes. Ariadne smirked, "I don't have to be a point man to notice you eat that every morning." She picked up her bag, pulled out a plastic spoon for his yogurt, "Bon appetite," and headed back to her desk.

It wasn't the first time Arthur had watched her go but it was the first time he saw—and really saw—the way she bounced when she walked. And not abrupt, staccato bounces but subtle ones. Why the mechanics of her movement interested him, he wasn't sure. His attention to detail was getting too natural for his own good. He shook it off and started on his biscuit as he turned back to some news articles he pulled up. It was two bites in and half through one of the articles when he realized he wasn't actually reading the article; his eyes were running across the lines and not computing. Arthur's mind was on the kind act the Architect had just done for him. Sure it wasn't much but she'd thought about him and no one else had done so. Not that it was expected. But for her to have been so thoughtful after he'd scolded her for being wrong and she ultimately turned out to be right? And when his arrogant mistake had almost cost the team their lives? To act so rudely with her earlier that morning when he was raised better than that…respected her more than that? All that and for Ariadne to overlook it… She was a good person in the midst of all that talent. Would Arthur have bought Eames' breakfast if it were Eames' blunders that got them into trouble? _Hell no_. But Ariadne… did she not hold it against him? She didn't seem to. But how could she not? It may have softened his earlier resolve to avoid everyone.

Ariadne's stomach was basically eating itself and the smell of everyone's food wafting around the building didn't help matters. An egg and cheese bagel never sounded so good. She scarfed it down but only sipped at the latte, wanting it to last much longer than the sandwich had. She resumed setting her desk up and putting her different supplies in the plastic drawers provided (why she bothered, she wasn't certain. It wasn't as if her things would remain in their proper places for long. Or ever return to them.) so determinedly that she wasn't aware The Point walked up until he spoke, "How long has it been since you changed your bandage?"

Surprised, her eyes shot up and she froze. It only took a second for her to recover. Ariadne dropped the pencils in her hand in a cup, "I haven't." She looked at her forearm in afterthought, even though her bandage wasn't visible from under her sweater sleeve, "It looks fine." There was no reply so instead of pulling out her highlighters and arranging them, she returned his gaze. He looked expectant…she sighed and pulled up her sleeve, "See? Fine."

"If by 'fine' you mean infection waiting to happen." The bandage was soaked through but a reddish brown from where the blood had dried and settled.

Ariadne looked over Arthur's shoulder at the Chemist's desk and saw him unpacking his last few (and by few let's picture thirty something) test tubes. She shrugged, as if unaffected by it all, and reached for her stash of highlighters, "Yusuf's busy."

"Which is why I'll do it," emphasized Arthur with the first aid kit laid and opened on her worktable.

"If you're trying to pay me back in some way for your breakfast so that we're even- then you don't have to. Sometimes people do nice things for others…get over it."

He still couldn't comprehend it; he'd gotten used to not having such a big heart around since Mal parted from them. Before he knew what he was feeling, let alone saying, it was out. "And some want to do something nice in return, so get over _that_." The Architect let out an exasperated sigh but didn't argue further so Arthur assumed she was going to let him. He pulled out her chair and requested she sit.

Ariadne often wondered what Arthur had done or aspired to do before he got involved in mind crime. Did he go to school to be an accountant, a lawyer, an engineer? Had he gone to school at all? Was he in the army? She figured he must have been. He carried himself like a soldier. While rolling up her left sleeve, she watched his hands nimbly organize the tools he would need on her worktable: pulling out a roll of bandages, some sort of cream, the scissors, medical tape, all without a guess. He held her arm where the bandage was-never touching her skin—and cut the bandage off adeptly. Maybe he was going to be a doctor… When he grabbed her arm next it was gentler than she imagined him capable of. Arthur held it closer to his face to assess it and Ariadne strained her neck to see what he was seeing.

In the next moment, Ariadne flinched. "It sting?" Arthur's voice came calmly and the Architect nodded her head in reply. It didn't sting per say; it was more of a tingle when she felt the pad of his thumb graze along her arm just below the slice in her flesh. She just wasn't expecting skin to skin contact. She'd be lying if she told herself she didn't have a slight infatuation with him during the Fischer job—and that it wasn't noticed. His boring, closed off nature was incredibly interesting to her for some reason. He was a challenge, a code she bet she could break to see if he really was this monotonous and arrogant or if the rare sparkle in his eye was a window to the real Point Man. That's all it was. Plus, what girl wouldn't feel a little tingle when a good looking man dressed her wounds?

He'd touched her before. She'd touched him. Nothing but a simple grab of her wrist when inserting the lead. A few handshakes. A tap on his shoulder. It wasn't anything new…so why was his mind fixated on this newfound contrast? The roughness of his skin with the smoothness of hers, the olive on the porcelain. Give your attention to detail a little rest, why don't you? He wiped the smeared blood from the bandage off with an alcohol pad, quickly rubbed in some cream and wrapped the bandage around tightly. The end of his task was marked with the click of a metal clip to secure the bandage in place—a punctuation of sorts. "And there we go." It looked as good as new which Ariadne affirmed with a tight smile and nod of the head. "Can probably take the stitches out of it tomorrow. What about the cut on your neck?"

The Architect touched the fabric of her scarf like she could check it like that, "Oh, it's scabbed over. It's fine." Her hand waved.

"Like your arm was 'fine'?" That man could often pass for her parental guardian the way he normally spoke to her. It was concerned but condescending. Ariadne didn't think the latter was of his own volition so she paid no mind. It was endearing that the former managed to creep in there. The tardis blue scarf around her neck was untied but not without a dramatic huff. "Tada."

He thought nothing of it. Arthur needed a better look at it. So his hand found its way to anchor the right side of her head as he tilted it back to look at her other wound. Never would he have anticipated the heat that radiated from her skin. Did she have a fever or was she always that warm to the touch? Ariadne wasn't blushing…she wasn't sweating, or clammy…she was just warm. Toasty, comfortably, _warm_. Made sense. They'd found out quickly she was hot natured; even had to bring in a portable fan for her alone. His eyes grazed over the cut on their way to her face to see if she'd been watching him. No. Her eyes looked bored, darting around in an effort to be patient. "Yeah, it looks healed enough," it was declared as he pulled his hand away, "I think it needs antiseptic cream just to be safe. You can handle that." Ariadne thanked him, catching the tube of antiseptic as he tossed it.

"No problem. And thank you for breakfast."

"Yeah, well," she shrugged, "someone's gotta take care of you, right?"

Take care of him? Since when had anyone blatantly offered to do that?  
xxxxxxx

With the destinations for the level decided within a week the team started in on the game plan for each level. Today was focused on how to get the mark under again. Eames leaned back in the sofa and put his feet up on the table in the center. "Maybe his "wifey" can serve him some lemonade, eh?" He looked down at his notepad and waved his pen around in the air, "I'll drug it up something fierce." Cobb tilted his head and wrote the suggestion on the board anyway.

"Does he drink lemonade?"

"Who doesn't drink lemonade, dear Yusuf?" The Forger said like Yusuf was a poor undereducated kid and he pitied him for it. Part of it could've been that Yusuf had arrived to the meeting early and got the seat in the bean bag before Eames could.

Yusuf spun around in Cobb's computer chair, bored, and threw in his two cents, "What if one of us just conks him with a frying pan when he least expects it?"

The annoying tingling sensation ground into Ariadne's hip again for the millionth time during the meeting. Sighing, she discreetly pulled it out and looked at the missed call screen. Eleven from her mom, six from her aunt, three from her grandmother and five voicemails…_either someone won the lottery or something's wrong. _She reasoned. Ariadne glanced up at Cobb: he was writing on the board, Yusuf and Eames were picking at each other and Arthur was…looking at her. They made eye contact and she could tell he disliked her twiddling on her phone during the meeting but decided to check the text from her cousin Natalie anyway. Ariadne's heart sped up to the point she felt it would flutter out of her chest. What had happened? Why didn't she have any texts or calls from her dad and her brother?

**Natalie Jourdan  
Call your mom or one of us ASAP. Family emergency.  
Sent 11:23 am**

Arthur squinted at her. He was sure he'd made it clear that it was both rude and detrimental to their progress for ones to play with electronic devices instead of contributing. While glaring at the top of her head he observed some things…First, that she was easily using her injured arm now. Yusuf checked on it each day and it was healing as it should. She commented that it was still very sore but she wasn't as careful about putting pressure on it and the like. Ever since she'd gotten him that damn breakfast he was involuntarily noticing things about her. Details. Every little detail. Like She chewed on her lip when she concentrated hard enough_. _And while he'd noticed the habit during Inception he hadn't paid mind to it. Hadn't lingered on the thought long enough to connect it as the reason her lips stayed chapped. And thus, why her records of frequent single item 2 dollar and under purchases at convenience stores both in Paris and in the US must be because of her privation of chapstick. Arthur zoned in on her teeth: They drug along her bottom lip while she gaped at the tiny screen, caught the tip of it, kept it there; they made barely noticeable chewing motions and then released. A brighter hue of pink burst into her lip and it was fuller than it had been the second before. Was that normal? Something to Google, he supposed. Arthur's eyes darted back to her eyes when she spoke, breaking the study.

"Um Cobb? It's urgent…" the Architect held up her phone, "can I have five minutes?"

His hand ran through his greasy hair, "Sure. I'm sure we won't get too far without you." She thanked him and hurried across the warehouse to her worktable, the phone pressed to her ear.  
xxxxxx

Yusuf was again spinning more circles in the chair like a teenager. It was a countdown to when he would upchuck his breakfast. "You could give him something to make him cough and then put formaldehyde on the tissue you hand him."

Cobb hit his head with the dry erase marker and Eames shook his in disbelief, "Where do you come up with these things?"

"Guys, could we be serious about this, please?" The blonde ordered. "Arthur, your input?"

The Point ran his pen down the page, reading through the list of options they'd come up with thus far. "As much as I hate to agree with Mr. Eames…I think the lemonade is our best bet." He neatly scrawled an asterisk by that bullet point.

"It's ambitious though…" Voiced the concern of Yusuf, "what if he isn't thirsty? Or asks her to pour something else? What if he comes in and grabs a beer or something on his own first?"

Everyone thought for a moment. Dom had a sudden moment of clarity and wrote something next to 'lemonade' on the board then tapped the chalk for extra emphasis. "The kid. His little girl can have a lemonade stand outside-Be making it inside and ask daddy to try some. He'll drink it even if he has something else; I always try what Pippa puts in front of me."

Yusuf stopped his spinning and held his head. Must've felt woosy…"Good but Eames is already forging Hadley…we can't guarantee he'll bring his daughter in and even if he did, the projection wouldn't follow our plan."

Dom smiled and pointed his chalk towards the girl in the corner, "I bet Ariadne could do it. She learns fast, she could forge Madison."

Yusuf's head bobbled side to side and his eyes squinted in a 'maybe' fashion while he wrote the suggestion down. Arthur wasn't keen on it. Exposing her to another area of the field was only getting her further involved in it. Miles had to deal with her decision to use her talents in the dreamshare world but he requested they keep an eyes on the woman. (Within reason because look at Mal.) Nevertheless, it needed to be done and she was qualified. He turned to the Forger who'd been silent for an unusual amount of time. "Eames, you think you could give Ariadne a crash course in forgery?" The Englishman ignored him. "Eames."

"Something's wrong." The Forger nodded in the direction his eyes were fixed. Arthur's ears sharpened as he looked at her. They could both hear her conversation, though faintly, if they tuned out the rest and focused on her.

"Mom, stop." She was shaking her head frantically. And she seemed angry at her mom, like it was a joke she didn't get. That hot headed temper took over her tone again. "Just tell me where they are." Ariadne insisted, her hand on her hip, her chin jutting outward, "Mom…mom, what happened?" She was getting a little louder as she talked over her parent, "What do you mean Alex is—" Frozen froze. The hand on her hip dropped and she stilled. The phone fell limply from her hand—which stayed in place at her ear—and crashed on the floor with a clank. Arthur's body went in alert as it usually did when the air of the unknown filled the space he was in. He was standing though hadn't realized he'd moved. He must've been too intensely zoned in on her words to have detected when Eames got up because the Forger was already more than halfway to her table. Arthur gaited after and heard silence behind. The Point had just made it to her workspace when her knees gave out from under her and the Brit caught her by the elbows, easing her down. "Sit, sit, sit. What's wrong, darling?" Eames kneeled in front of her and held both of her hands, searching her eyes for any clue. All Arthur found himself competent of was looking on and noticing more details. Her eyes were glazed over and she stared ahead—not at the forger but an unidentified point in the wall far across from her. Her breaths were shallow and she'd gone so pale that she'd become translucent. Not sure what he could do…he stood still, eyebrows furrowed. He was never one for questions and specifically when it had to do with coworkers' personal lives. There was a barrier that kept him from prying into her recent conversation.

Yusuf padded into the area and interrupted. Of course, he had fallen under the spell of the only female around too. They may all be hardened criminals but when a woman had a breakdown they reverted to normal men in the situation—frenzied, uncomfortable, at a loss for what to do or say and praying there wouldn't be tears. "What happened? Is there anyt—"

Arthur demanded before he could finish his sentence, "Get her some water." The well-read, self trained paramedic in him took over in the moment. He deduced her behavior as part of a panic attack. She needed water and to breathe deeply so her heart rate would slow and her body wouldn't react unfavorably. He looked over to Cobb who was standing on the other side of the warehouse and watching from afar. Concern etched on his face. It was then that Arthur's ears picked up on Ariadne's name being repeated. Her phone was still lit up and discarded on the floor. There was something he could do: "Hello, is this Mrs. Bourgeois? This is Arthur Murdoch, I'm a friend of Ariadne's from work. She's gone into a bit of shock… (from what though, the team wasn't aware) she'll be alright though." Among his many talents was the one to calm people down with his soothsaying, polite ways. That is—when he wasn't upsetting them with his lofty, patronizing ways. "I'll have her call you back when she settles down. Yes ma'am. Goodbye."

The Chemist came back with water. He reached it out to her but it was taken by Eames and he was the one to offer it. She took a sip but her good arm seemed too shaky to keep hold of it so Eames took and gave it to Arthur to set on her table. "Ari, Darling, are you ok?" Eames shook her hands in her lap to try and get her attention. One of her heels had begun bouncing up and down with anxiety but she finally acknowledged one of them. She met Eames' eyes and bit her lip, shaking her head no.

Arthur called it like clockwork: Teeth crossed the bottom lip, stopped at the edge, nibbled…but she didn't let it go. She was concentrating. Her eyes blinked furiously. _She's concentrating on not crying. _Then her brown, moist, eyes ran over Arthur and Yusuf before returning to Eames. Her lip turned white as she bit down harder_. She's concentrating on not crying in front of us. _Arthur caught it. The exchange of trust and promise when her eyes locked _into_ Eames' whereas she couldn't even bring herself to meet Arthur's or Yusuf's. "My dad's in ICU and my brother is dead. They were hit by a drunk driver, flipped into a tree."

The man holding her hands, softened his grip and placed one hand on the crook of her neck, "Oh no, pet, I'm so sorry."

It was bulky, Eames' hand as it anchored her neck. It looked awkward to Arthur but Ariadne looked comfortable enough with it there. "Yusuf, let's not crowd her…" The Point Man remembered that several blinking faces and tight spaces didn't help panic attacks and told Eames he needed to do some breathing exercises with her before they returned to the group. Arthur returned to relay the goings on to Cobb— after all the forger had it under control; he wasn't needed. He would say that fact was a blow to his ego, if it was anything.  
xxxxxx

They stood at her desk, preparing to leave for the night. She looked exhausted and stressed, her jacket folded over her arm and her bag slung around her. The four men attempted to force her back to her hotel and take the day off when she calmed enough to be coherent but she refused. Ariadne wanted to draw and keep her mind off of it. "We've got a flexible timeframe for this operation; I can spare you a few days to fly home. You need to." Dom insisted.

Ariadne had called her mom back to try and discuss the circumstances more rationally. The sudden change in her life overwhelmed her. They didn't expect her dad to be able to work again with all the damage done to his brain. Her mother said she was looking for someone who could help them dissolve his private construction firm, turn in his retirement and all that. It was easy for Dom to see that the Architect felt torn between her duties. She wanted _and _needed to go home and be with family but she was committed to this extraction and was afraid to leave them in the lurch. "I don't think Mrs. Summerford (the mark's wife and client) and Mr. Edwards (her lawyer and brother in law) would be pleased with the idea. They hired our team because we're hard working; I can't just take off…"

"Your family's life has been turned upside-down." His hand softly pressed into her desk so he could lean into it and because if he pressed too hard, his healing hands would send sharp shooting pain up his arm. "I'm not suggesting you go home. I'm _telling_ you to. I'll put you on the plane myself if that's what it takes. We'll cover for you with Edwards."

The girl's face said she was hopeful but her eyes showed she was skeptic. Dom then offered, "If you're worried about the client getting upset and retaliating than one of us can accompany you." Yeah, she'd already been mulling over the idea. "But I'm sure it'll be fine."

Arthur walked up with his laptop satchel hanging over his shoulder and his trench coat on. They were the last three to leave. Eames had called it a night at five since they hadn't gotten a solid plan of action down for him to begin studying his subjects. Yusuf ducked out after dinner, having spilt a chemical on himself and needing an immediate shower. Arthur queried, "Are you two ready to lock up?"

Since, they'd been standing there ready to walk out during their conversation all they had to do was turn the lights off and head out the front door. Instead of waiting with her for a taxi, Arthur offered to drive her back. He was staying with Cobb and her hotel was on the way. Five minutes of silence into the ride and Ariadne started, "Could I—?" The words died quick and hard and she went back to scrolling through her emails on her phone.

Arthur gave her a quizzical glance at the stop sign. He waited patiently for her to finish. When it was evident she wasn't going to, he egged, "Yes?"

"Do point-men do favors?" Ariadne did her best to keep her gaze directed at the phone in her lap and sound as un-invested as possible.

"It depends on who they're for and what they require."

Her deep breath came out in a rush. More obvious than she intended it to be. This was like a band-aid. She just needed to rip it off and cut to the chase. "Cobb gave me permission to go home for the funeral and said you guys would cover but he thinks someone should accompany me in case Mr. Edwards has a problem with it."

The Point Man furrowed his brows, "Cobb can't leave. He's the leader of the operation…Edwards would definitely have a problem with that." What was Dom thinking? He was the extractor, the trailblazer, he couldn't leave the rest of the team in the lurch. Especially, since the client called daily for progress reports. That would display extreme disregard for his position and the job and Mrs. Summerford and Mr. Edwards would question the team's dedication to the operation.

"Yeah." It was flippant because Dom was not who she was alluding to. The car turned the curb and came to another red-light. Now, his attention was unfortunately all hers. "Well I, um, you see…they don't think my dad will ever be able to go back to work. And he owned a small business so we have to file for retirement and dissolve that and…You're brilliant at that kind of stuff." His head turned back to the front as the light flashed green and hers dipped sheepishly, "I was gonna ask if _you _wouldn't mind coming with me?"

"Alright." The vehicle smoothly turned into the back parking lot of her hotel and slid into a well-lit spot. "Have you booked the flights yet?"

Her head shook, "I was going to as soon as I got in."

"Let me do that. We would leave tomorrow I assume," The gear shift was put in park, his seat belt unbuckled and his body shifted to face her. "And be back?"

Ariadne breathed deep and let her gaze wander up to remember what she and Dom decided was a good time period. "We'd leave early Sunday."

Of course he'd be the kind of man to have a stack of post-its conveniently stored in his console. He pulled the pad out (and a pen from his jacket) and made note of the departure and return dates. All the while, Ariadne stared at him incredulously. It had been easy to convince him. Too easy. He didn't notice her eyes on him. On the doorstep to the building he said he would text her the times of the flights and when he would be picking her up for the airport the next day. Then, made sure he received her '_I'm still alive_' text that (cheekily) signified she had safely made it into her room and he could get on the road to Dom's house.  
xxxxxx

They sat in one of the rows of what Ariadne named the 'deceptive seats.' Each row was interconnected and supported by metal bars and the cushions were blue. The _cushions _were what made them 'deceptive.' Because at first sight they looked plushy. Like you could sink into them and sleep in the airport for days. WRONG. After an hour in those godforsaken chairs, one of her legs was asleep and her lower back was beginning to ache. Arthur seemed fine. Sure he did. His straight posture was comfortably supported by the backs of the chairs. Maybe he had been a male ballet dancer. That would explain his body alignment and grace of movement. His hands folded in his lap as he observed his surroundings. Not with scrutiny just with patience. Sensing her, his head turned. Ariadne was staring at him. There wasn't any certain emotion or state of mind in it; the Parisian was just looking at him. "May I help you?"

"Nah. I'm just confused because you didn't turn me down and I'm not stuck sitting next to Eames or Yusuf right now." She abandoned the exchange to fish in her carry-on for gum.

Arthur narrowed his eyes even as she held the pack out for him to grab his own piece if he wanted it. He denied its existence. "Was I seriously that cold of a bastard to you during Inception? You act like I would crush the ribs of starving children."

The Architect chewed the stick into a wad before replying, "I just never know where I stand with you. Like…I don't know what's appropriate to say or do around you. So I just assume everything is a _'don't.'_"

"There's no need for you to walk on eggshells around me. I'm capable of feeling sympathy and being friendly. I'm willing to help. I _am_ human."

"**Flight 487 to Houston, TX boarding Gold Card passengers." **(It was not their final destination. They had a layover there.)

The two stood to get in line for first class seating, the girl in front of the man. Ariadne quipped on their way to the queue, "Could have fooled the rest of us. I thought you were Robo-Cop. Or the Terminator. It depends on your mood."

Xxxxxxx

**Next Chapter**: We (and Arthur) see Ariadne's hometown, house she grew up in, meet her mom and well obviously some development of connection. What do we think so far? Arthur and Ariadne are sort of friendly-ish but for the most part it's awkward indifference and mutual respect… they're such adorable and oblivious little turds. Review please and I'll try to update on Tuesday. :)

Oh I'm doing titles based on songs that sort of go along with the chapter. So Chapter 1 was 'Hello' by Martin Solveig feat. Dragonette and this chapter was 'Strange Attractor' by Animal Kingdom.


	3. Count On Me

My thank you's go to: _Lauraa-x: _Yeahhhh. I have a feeling that Ariadne's big heart is what's gonna win him over. _Grace-xox: _It is Arthur...so he wouldn't rush into the fiery flames of passion right away. A/A gotta simmer first. Hahah. Thank you! I hope you continue to like it. _Lazarus76: _Yes he can. Poor robot and thankya. _lilachiccups: _Aww why? :/

And special thank you's to new story followers, yay: _IntoTheVelvetSky, bajatadancer _and _numbah435spiritsong. _Know what would be awesome? Dropping a line and telling me what I did right to make you follow it so I can continue that. Lol.

**Chapter 3: Count On Me**

They pulled up to a two story white house with dark green shutters and door. The cab ride had been silent (the two plane rides and the layover in between too. The Architect had earbuds in her ears for most of the flights and was asleep for the rest of them.) It seemed like the closer Ariadne got to home, the farther her mind drifted from the world. The cab pulled up to her abode and while Arthur was quickly on his feet and grabbing their bags from the trunk...Ariadne sluggishly slid out of the backseat and stared at the house. It wasn't until Arthur had nudged her elbow that she noticed the cab had gone. She visibly shook whatever she was thinking off, steeled herself, grabbed the handle of her suitcase and wheeled it up to the front. Her mother—Shannon—with contrastingly blond-ish hair and green eyes met them on the stairs. "Addy Grace! How was your flight?" She smiled, ushered them in, obviously happy to see her daughter whereas the Architect had to force her mouth into a halfhearted upturn, "Long. How are you doing?"

"Good, considering…." Her mom nodded, her features starting to scrunch at the thought. If Ariadne was trying further dampen her mom's mood upon her arrival then she succeeded. Before Shannon could finish the sentence Ariadne abruptly cut her off by shutting the door (almost a slam) and gesturing to the quiet figure shadowing her around the property.

"Mom, this is Arthur." The Point Man had to do a double-take to make sure he was indeed in the right house with the right Architect. Sure, he'd witnessed her gradual plunge into silence but this girl was completely different than the one he boarded their first flight with. This girl was somber and closed off. He'd never known Ariadne to be closed off.

"Hello Arthur." Her mom shook his hand and Arthur took a respite from the speculation of Ariadne to exclaim his delight to meet her. Shannon wasn't surprised Ariadne had brought him with her; she'd called and told her mom that someone from her office was going to come and help with dissolving her dad's private construction and engineering firm. What her mother didn't expect was for him to be a Casanova in a three piece suit. "Come on let's get you two some drinks." She led them into the kitchen. For the point of conversation only, Shannon questioned, "How long will you be staying again?"

With a quick glance at the Point Man first, Ariadne replied. "Three days is all I think we could get off work." And then Arthur specified how the time would be used, "Today, the funeral on Friday and then Saturday for the business."

The older woman poured two short glasses of sweet tea and offered them, "Ok, well I was thinking we could go to the grocery and you could help me pick out a few things to serve at the reception. Just easy things we can stick in the crockpot and heat up that morning. Or would you guys like to unpack first?" Shannon looked between the two of them.

"It's up to you ladies." Arthur shrugged and set his now empty glass down in the sink.

The Architect followed his example and then rubbed her head, "I'm so jetlagged. Could we get settled in first?" As said earlier Arthur was a natural at picking up details. When Ariadne was tired, she blinked a lot. If she rubbed anything it was the corners of her eyes. He'd never seen her half-exhausted at the warehouse and rubbing her forehead.

"Of course, Sweetie." Arthur watched as Ariadne's mother patted her and kissed her temple. "It's still early. Take your time, shower, get a long nap in and we can go this afternoon."

"Want us to show you where the guest room is?" Ariadne said in afterthought, trotting out of the kitchen. Arthur agreed and followed them to the staircase. As normal, he went to pick up the Architect's bag but she grabbed it as soon as his hand reached towards it. "I've got it." It was clipped and her eyes were sharp. What had _he_ done?

As they were hiking up the stairs, Shannon commented, "He may be more comfortable in Alex's room, Ad." Arthur could feel the tension as soon as that phrase left her mom's mouth. Ariadne's voice was abnormally curt, "Why? The guest room has that king Tempurpedic." It didn't take a trained psychologist to figure out that Ariadne was offended by the notion of anyone even stepping foot into Alex's room.

"We switched them." Shannon stopped at the top of the stairs and turned around to wait, "Alex has the king—"

"_Had_ the king…" Ariadne halted at the top step and eyed at her mom blankly before brushing past. Her mom merely swallowed and continued, "—And the guest has the full. Arthur's legs are long; he'd hang half off of it."

Without turning around to answer, Ariadne lugged her bag carelessly down the hall. Even as it turned over to where the wheels weren't being used and she was dragging it, even after it hit the molding of the doorway like a bumper car. "Then just show him both rooms and let _him_ choose." Her suitcase disappeared with a yank just before her second dramatic door slam of the day.

Shannon sighed and made an apology, "I'm sorry for that- "

Who could blame the Architect? She'd just lost her younger brother and her childhood home was filled with memories of him. From the pictures lining the walls to his sweatshirt hanging on his doorknob. It was only a few days and Arthur had slept on much, much worse, "Mrs. Bourgeois, the guest room would more than suffice. I'm not particular."

"Don't let Ariadne's attitude make your mind for you. She's not herself. You're doing a great kindness to our family and the business. Were Alex still here—he would've offered to switch rooms anyway. He was that kind of boy." Her hand touched her chest and her eyes began to shine with moisture. As Ariadne had done earlier, she shook it off and insisted, "Please, I want you to be comfortable."

His eyes flickered to Ariadne's closed bedroom door, "I would be most comfortable knowing Ariadne isn't upset with me and I feel she would be if I stayed in his room. I don't feel right disturbing it. Out of respect for her and Alex, I'd rather stay in the guest room." When Shannon considered him (or rather his long legs) doubtfully, he added "Please."

"Alright. It's this room here." Shannon led him to the middle door in the hallway on the opposite side of Ariadne and Alex's rooms. "Make yourself at home." She traipsed into the room, opened the closet and put a thick blanket on the end of the bed for him, opened the blinds by the window seat and pointed to the corner, "the bathroom is through that door there. I'll be downstairs; if you need a glass of water, anything, don't hesitate to come down."  
xxxxxx

Arthur took a shower and re-gelled his hair. He always felt gross and unkempt after flying. The Point hadn't unpacked his things because he didn't think their stay was long enough to allow it. The PASIV—which never left his possession—was hidden under his mattress and his laptop and cell were hooked up to their chargers. Around two o'clock, Arthur felt famished so he followed the scent of home cooking to the kitchen downstairs. Her mom sensed his presence without ever looking. Must be a maternal thing. "Do you like white chili, Arthur? I made enough for all of us. Would you like to try a bowl?"

"Please." He took a seat when she gestured and a piping hot bowl was placed in front of him. A dollop of sour cream and a sprinkling of cheese sat on top. Courteously, the man waited for her to sit with her own bowl before he dug in.

"The kids love my white chili," stated the blonde as they chowed down.

Arthur stirred the mixture to cool it off and took another gratuitous bite, "I can see why; it's delicious."

"Tell me about yourself. I can hazard a guess that you didn't grow up in France." Shannon chuckled and Arthur could see who Ariadne got her smile from. Never the less, he dove into one of the many cover stories he'd dreamt up over the years. With embellishments added here and there for flavor and continuity with what Ariadne had informed him she'd told her parents. "No ma'am, California, actually. I got my degree much like Ariadne. Worked for my AA at home—UCLA—and then transferred to Oxford for my Masters and certificate. But it rains engineers in England and finding a firm was scarce. Needless to say, when my good friend Dom said he could get me a job at one in Paris…it was off to France."

"So it was more of a mandatory career move than anything." Shannon assumed and took a sip of her tea.

Arthur pursed his lips in thought, "Yes but I'm not complaining. Paris is…" And then half a laugh escaped his lips at the thought of anyone pitying themselves for living and working in _Paris_. Out of the thousands of cities he'd visited the world over, Paris had always been in the top 3. It could've been because it was one of the ones he frequented most as Cobb's partner and held nostalgic value. Or maybe it was a societal feeling instilled in him. After all, it was a place every human being wished to see before they died. The city of lights, the city of lovers, of dreams, of opportunity. Endless art. A place where you could walk the streets during the day and smell nothing but freshly baked bread and walk there at night like strolling among the stars. "…perfection. I admire the atmosphere there," Then the image of a French native coming out of a coffee shop, laughing, shrugging her red jacket on and playfully slapping the forger they both knew too well blasted through his mind and Arthur couldn't help but add, "and the people." It was true. Parisians—the ones he'd met—all had an effortless charm about them and a passion he envied for himself: Miles, Penelope, Dom, Mal, Ariadne.

Her mother nodded and grinned in agreement,"Addy has always wanted to live in Paris. Ever since she was a little girl. I think it was because since she was born we would visit Gerard's parents over there every other year and spend either summer or Christmas break with them in the city. She'd pack months in advance and whereas other kids like Alex would cry when we left Disney World…Ad only cried when we dragged her home from Paris." The faraway look on her face suggested Shannon was picturing young Ariadne and Alex in her mind. "When she was seven she convinced herself she could move there on her own."

"How'd she figure she'd do that?" It was polite to inquire and further their conversation. He was in a somewhat trapped position. When researching marks and fellow team mates he purposefully refrained from any background information that wasn't statistical. Besides the fact that it was irrelevant to the job in 99 percent of the cases, he didn't care what the name of someone's first pet was. There was no desire to find past yearbook pictures if it wasn't necessary. And if there was (and believe it that he was tempted to know how this tiny Architect had ended up with such a brazen personality the second she told Cobb off and slapped Arthur in the face with her jacket as she stormed out) he avoided it. Apart from the Cobbs, Arthur knew nothing private about anyone else he worked with and if they would try to engage in conversation in which they revealed more of themselves he would back away. See, to know those intimate things about a person was to _really know_ them. And when you really know someone as in the case of he and Cobb then you became friends. You grew attachments. And those were rare in successful dream sharers. He and Dom (and Mal when she was alive) were an anomaly in the business. And if they hadn't been the best of the best and pioneers in the research that made so many newcomers to the field rich and working then they would've been laughing stalks. He already knew things about Ariadne that he regretted knowing: her preferred style of architecture, her closeness with Miles, a few bad habits like biting her lips and picking at her nails, her penchant for scarves and inclination towards éclairs for dessert and all because she cornered him and slipped the information into his brain without him realizing it was happening. The same way she wriggled out of him that his true last name started with a 'T' and he had a preference for ball point pens. This case was already tricky. He generally liked Ariadne as a person. She was intelligent, cultured, an asset to the team—a sweet girl and they worked well together. The problem: _He generally liked Ariadne as a person_. Every man on the Inception team had a soft spot for her but Arthur didn't have soft spots. And he would insist that. Though there was the fact that when Cobb dragged her into limbo, it bothered him. And he strangely (in an out of body, adrenaline filled, air headed moment) tricked her into a kiss…and he agreed to travel with her to her hometown to be of assistance to her family... Anyway! The point was: she was a barely filled in sketch. A few marks here and there, maybe a dot of color filled in a corner section. The Point Man wanted to keep it that way. As usual, he didn't want to see the whole picture of a person, he wanted to keep them a file. A number. A name. But he couldn't curtly end the conversation or explain his disinterest to Shannon so he found himself asking. One more dark line on the sketch wouldn't hurt. Arthur furrowed his eyebrows and took another spoonful of chili as he waited.

"Who knows?" Shannon chortled, shook her head and rolled her eyes, "She got it into her little brain that she would and stubbornly insisted on trying. Certainly scared us half to death."

The Point smirked, "Sounds like her." It was friendly. It was true. It was non-committal and the perfect way to laugh off the story and move on to a different subject. If only he was so lucky.

"She had told us she was going to the night before, too. Got out her Sailor Moon backpack, packed some clothes and her toothbrush and made a bunch of PB&J sandwiches but we thought she was being silly, which is normal for her. Gerard and I were coming back from—oh gosh, what was it?" She covered her mouth with her hand like it would assist her failing memory," Oh—Alex had an ear infection and we'd taken him to the doctor. Ariadne had to ride the school bus home that day and got home maybe an hour before we did. Anyway, we came inside and couldn't find her anywhere. Called everyone. Nearly had heart attacks. We threw Alex in the car and went driving around the neighborhood looking for her. After an hour I was sobbing, her father was beside himself and we got a call from the airport." Arthur shook his head. Not in disbelief because it sounded _just like_ something a baby Ariadne would get herself into. And shit—the story was amusing him. "One of the nice ladies at the ticket counter said she asked Ariadne what her parent's cell number was and called right away but that she was trying to buy a ticket to Paris with a piggy bank full of quarters. So we rushed to the airport and there she was: must have walked or—God—taken the public bus to get there. She was sitting on one of the luggage scales by the lady who'd called us with a big beanie on her head and her piggy bank under her arms. Just a-swinging her legs and beaming with pride. She was happy to see us _only_ because she thought we came to say goodbye."

"What'd she do when you took her home?" He was this far in. He might as well get the full story.

"Threw a fit. A blubbering, kicking and screaming fit." Shannon could not contain her snicker, "She tried again when she was thirteen. And she made it all the way there but Gerard's parents called us and put her on a plane back home."

"But they let me stay a week first." The star of the story had made an appearance (and a change of clothes). Ariadne paraded into the kitchen (her comment almost a brag) and grabbed a glass out of the cabinet. "Telling embarrassing things about me, Maman?"

"Non." Her mom over exaggerated her innocent tone, "Only the fascinating." Her mother wasn't the one with French background, her father was. She wasn't fluent in French like Ariadne and Alex but Shannon had learned little phrases over the years from listening to Gerard teach the children.

The Architect droned sarcastically as she scanned the contents of the fridge, "Oh yeah, I'm sure there's a real treasure trove of _those_."

"How was your nap?" It must've been well because Ariadne was a different person than the depressing one that dragged herself in. Back to herself…a little bit more than herself actually. The two who'd been sitting there previously couldn't decide whether it was genuine or not but they sure liked her this way better. "Good. No cranberry juice?"

"No, we'll have to pick some up." Her mom patted the table where she'd set a bowl of chili down for her. Ariadne need only look at the pot on the stove before she hurried to the seat and downed a spoonful. "Mmm…I love your white chili." Shannon gave Arthur that 'didn't I tell you look' while Ariadne addressed him, "Did you sleep?"

"No I was—"

"Working?" She threw him a knowing and accusing one eyebrow then alerted her mother to his problem, "Arthur's a workaholic. My friend William (Eames. Yes, she'd wheedled him out of his name as well) and I are looking into a seven step plan."

"Are you rested enough to head out?" Obviously, her mother ignored the jibe at Arthur and smoothed over that subject.

"As rested as I'll get. And—do you have anything I can wear to the funeral? We were in LA on business when I got the call and I hadn't packed a dress or anything… Nothing in my closet either." Ariadne stood and took her mother and Arthur's bowls to stack them all in the sink. She heard her mother over the faucet, "We can stop by that outlet on 4th if you want? I don't want you to have to wear a skirt suit like an old lady."

"I mean…it's not like I haven't before." She gave Arthur a pointed look over her shoulder.

Xxxxxx

The buggy was filled to the brim with all sorts of delicacies. They decided they could get some tortellini to cook in the crockpot, the bite sized barbecue wieners, a few cheese and meat plates, fruit and vegetable trays, several ingredients for Ariadne to make deviled eggs and gallons of drinks. Her mom had already contacted Ariadne's two aunts and they had agreed to pick up some more snack foods and desserts for the reception after the funeral. However while they were at it, Ariadne picked up several loafs of bread, cartons of milk, ready to eat meals, anything she thought her mom would need for weeks of groceries to come, insisting she was buying what her mom needed. Except when they got to the register, Arthur stepped forward with wallet in hand, "Allow me."

"Oh no, I can't let you do that." Shannon griped as she loaded things onto the conveyor belt. In front of her, The Architect halted stacking things and looked up at Arthur to reject with a shake of her head. He loaded the bagged produce back into the cart and looked over Ariadne's head. "I insist."

Ariadne protested in a hushed tone, "Arthur, that's hundreds of dollars of groceries. You know I have the money for it."

"As do I. Your mother is allowing me to stay in her house when relatives from out of town should. I'm eating the food, I'm using the water and electricity—it's the least I could do. At least let me pay for half of it." The man would not allow their hospitality to go un-thanked. Sometimes people did nice things for others, didn't she say that. Well he was attempting to do something nice for her family.

The girl cut her eyes to the nosy cashier and then huffed back at him, "You're a guest. Guests don't pay. I appreciate your offer but it's my family and my responsibility. I wasn't here when it happened," her caramel orbs fixed on the register and saddened, "I didn't get to help plan the funeral, I didn't order the flowers…I can at least buy the food." And Ariadne swiped her card before Arthur could further argue over the matter, ignoring the stare from the Wal-Mart worker.  
xxxxxxx

"Really mom, I don't need anything too fancy. A simple black dress will suffice, I _promise_. This is Alex's funeral not a coming out party." They had been looking through dresses far longer than Ariadne was anticipating. (Though, Ariadne allotted herself five minutes and Shannon had drug it out to fifteen). Her mom was pickier than she was and it didn't help that Ariadne was so tiny that it was a feat to find anything in her size. "But this is adorable. Look at the back. Maybe they have your size!" Ariadne waved her mother off and picked up a simple black tank dress on the end of the rack, not even listening.

"We've been here like 20 minutes, everything in the car is going to spoil."

"Ariadne," Her mother put her hand on her hips and jutted out a hanger with the Architec's size on it, "just humor your mother and try this on. I've been through enough."

Now, Ariadne was never one for shopping. That was devastating for Shannon because the woman lived to shop. She was always coming home with shoes and clothes she'd gotten on a special sale. She was a rewarded customer everywhere. Often, while Ariadne was growing up, her mother would come home with bags of clothes for her. Some Ariadne liked, a lot she didn't but it saved the Architect from having to go shopping on her own and she was never without. Not that Ariadne didn't enjoy looking nice but she had better things to do on her Saturdays than slave away at the mall trying to find anything in her sizes and buying into the world's commercialized view of how she should dress. Nevertheless, she spent many a weekend (especially leading up to a school dance or benefit for her mom's bridge club or party for her dad's work) being dragged around Ridgedale Mall. That's why she had so many scarves…her mother always bought her one if she lasted the day or one was on sale. It was an article of clothing her daughter actually got excited about so she fueled it when she could.

Today felt like those days long ago when Shannon's daughter was a teenager, rolling her eyes as she coaxed her into the dressing room yet again. Ariadne's friend was across the way absentmindedly looking at the displays. Trying to give them privacy she guessed. _He is very polite._ Shannon was delighted to see Ariadne pad towards her with her garment of choice on. It was positively darling on her. Slightly full in the skirt but hit right at the top of her knee, a sweetheart neckline and the back cut out to resemble a bow. "Oh my…you're buying that." Shannon glanced back over at Ariadne's friend and found his attention zoned in on her daughter and while his face gave off very little to be deciphered, his eyes were glued to her back.

Arthur had walked the store over, rejected offers of assistance and passed the same rack time and time again. He remembered doing the same with his mother. He learned his patience from such experience growing up. Not to rush someone. Not to hover and make them uncomfortable as they browse. Not to adversely comment on price or give opinion unless asked. He had been halfheartedly reading an advertisement for forty percent off their selection of shoes when Ariadne's mom's exclamation made him look up. Made him glance up in time to see Ariadne begrudgingly turning in a circle for Shannon to inspect. Ariadne was a woman. He knew that. So why was he so surprised how much she looked like one when she wasn't hidden under baggy cardigans and jeans? It was perplexing. Hmm…Ariadne: A woman. A nicely shaped woman. A decent looking—perhaps he should check his phone for email updates from Dom. That would be a wise thing to—

Ariadne looked at the tag (not that the money would've been an issue but the question of her never ending supply might be). "I'll help if you need it." Shannon added (desperate to talk Addy into purchase) but Ariadne plucked the plain, boring tank dress she saw earlier and handed it to her mom. "I can find something just as functional for cheaper. Funeral, remember?"

"I'll pay for it if money's the issue since you wouldn't take my offer to pay for the groceries." Out of nowhere The Point Man was behind her. Suddenly, the Parisian felt sheepish standing in the middle of a dress boutique modeling for her mom like a fourteen year old. Now Ariadne just wanted to grab the tank dress, shove cash at the employee and get out. Instead, she deadpanned, "Arthur, it's a hundred dollar dress."

He nodded, the look in his eyes calculating. He looked down at the rack next to him and read the price off of a copy of her dress as if the item were no different than buying her a magazine or cheese stick. With the way they were paid, a couple hundred dollars was practically nothing. "I'm aware."

"Can I talk to you for a second?" The Architect hazarded a glance at her mom. Shannon's shapely eyebrows rested at the top of her head and her over-excited, let me get ahead of myself and assume things look was already creeping onto her face while Ariadne pulled Arthur aside. "What are you doing? Buying me a dress—an expensive one at that- in front of my mother is exactly the kind of thing you shouldn't do." Her arms folded across her chest and he was lost to the reason, "Why not?" Funny. With how anal he was about keeping distance and the appearance of connectivity, you'd think he wouldn't have touched his recent offer with a ten foot pole.

"Because while the two of us may not think anything of it…the woman who spends her free time trying to set me up with everything on two legs started planning our wedding the second you offered." Oh. Sense trickled back to him. "Would you buy me a dress in front of Dom? Or Yusuf, or _Eames? _"

Point was made. "I'll wait outside." But as he walked away he added, clearing his throat, "The one you're wearing, it does look agreeable on you." Oh, what a compliment, Ariadne sardonically thought to herself. Then again, he didn't have to say anything at all. It _was _the dress she ended up with despite her better judgment. And she would go to her grave swearing it had not been because of Arthur's comment. It was 89 percent because of Shannon's persuading and cajoling. Only eleven percent was because of the Point Man's words. After they were finished with everything, it was time to visit Ariadne's dad in the hospital.

Xxxxxx

In all the research Arthur had done it was very clear that a strained relationship with Ariadne's

father was not present. So Ariadne's distant behavior as they entered his hospital room seemed off. She stood at the foot of his bed and watched her mother attempt to interact with him as if she was watching tv and bored with it at that. It was a hard thing to walk into. Most of the blood had been cleared from his face but his head was all bandaged up even covering one of his eyes. His arm was in a cast and his two legs in slings hanging from the ceiling. (The Doctor's feared he may never walk again). On top of all of that he was hooked up to an oxygen machine and they had heart monitors on him. A large intake of breath was all Ariadne gave away of her thoughts on the matter. It wasn't weird to the Point that he couldn't figure out what she was thinking but it was strange she wasn't wearing her heart on her sleeve as normal. Especially around someone so dear to her. She made no remark or correction when her mom tried to direct her dad—Gerard's—attention to his little girl and he had called her Jacqueline- the name of his sister who lived in Bordeaux. Arthur stepped out of the room shortly after they arrived (after seeing Gerard's condition) and heard the exchange from the doorway: Ariadne exclaimed a "Whatever, mom, it's fine." And then "Come on, Gerard, you remember Addy. Your 'Petite Gateau.' They didn't stay too long. It was already getting dark and they needed to get home and start preliminarily preparing for the guests that would come to their house after the funeral service. Arthur didn't feel a lot but he felt the melancholy suffocating them in the car.  
Xxxxxxx

When they got home, Ariadne ran her new dress upstairs and then the three of them sorted and put away the groceries. It wasn't until the oven was switched on and they went to stick the cocktail weenies in the crockpot….that her mom realized they didn't _have_ a crockpot. "I was supposed to pick several up from Maia and Stanley's house."

"They can't bring it over?" Ariadne kneeled down to pull out casserole pans and mixing bowls from the lower cabinets.

"Stanley is out of town with Nathan and Maia is working the nightshift. Your aunt Helena has the extra tables. Crap and" she looked at the cat shaped clock on the wall, "the florist is fixing to close, I was going to go ahead and pick up the arrangements tonight. How could all of that slip my mind?" The lone man in the house could come up with a few reasons. One being that when Ariadne acted the way she was, it was hard not to think about anything else other than what on earth would put her back to normal.

Ariadne's eyes widened at all the chores they'd left undone, "Ok…look. You need to start on your casseroles. Just make what you can and I'll go do everything. I'll pick up dinner too so you don't have to deal with that." She received a relieved kiss on the forehead and a big thank you for the offer. The Architect turned to Arthur, "Would you mind coming with? I'm not sure I can carry the tables myself." Arthur nodded and shrugged on his suit jacket, following her out the door. After all this is what he came for.

They picked up the flowers first in order to beat the store's hours and then headed to her aunt's for the tables. The stalky, awkward brunette invited them in, thrust glasses of iced lemonade in their hands and started asking them all kinds of questions about work and Los Angeles with bright eyes. Her Aunt Helena—as Ariadne described to Arthur in the car ride over—had a heart of gold but beans for brains. She was completely aloof to her sense of time and always stuck her foot in her mouth with ironically, the best intentions. The Architect privileged Arthur with the car keys and he passed in and out hauling the tables into the trunk. He didn't really catch what Helena was going on about until he was finished and had come up behind them to announce he was done. Immediately, he knew this conversation was a bad idea. He'd refrained from coming even remotely close to the topic himself but here the beans for brains was stressing the Architect to the max. And there Ariadne was gritting her teeth and trying to let it go through one ear and out the other. "Well sixty is a fragile age. If something big happens to you at sixty, you never really recover from it. It's like a slow, downhill ride until the end. I visited the hospital yesterday and the poor thing looked like an empty shell. I was talking to Shannon about it and she doesn't think your dad will ever be the same…It's such a shame he—"

Out of pure chivalry and pity, Arthur felt the need to rescue her. Interjecting hastily, "I had to put the seats in the back down but the tables fit. I don't mean to interrupt but we need to get the crockpots and they're across town." There was no idea in his mind where the crockpots were but it sounded plausible enough. And Helena seemed gullible enough to believe whatever he said.

Ariadne puffed air out her cheeks when she looked at him- every shade of alleviation sparked in her eyes. The Aunt was suddenly filled with a sense of urgency and rushed to give Ariadne a hug and Arthur a pat and smile and practically pushed them out the door to their next errand with bottles of organic green tea shoved at their person. Sliding into to the car, Arthur peered over at the driver: White fingers held on to the bottom of the steering wheel halfheartedly and a forehead was digging into the center of it. Something softened in the corner of his chest. Not a large something nor a sizable corner just for the record…There was no obligation to ask. He genuinely wanted to make sure, "Are you alright?"

A large intake of breath preceded, "Yeah. I just have a headache."

_Wonder why…_Arthur chided in his mind but then offered to drive for her. Her head lifted from the steering wheel and shook as she turned the key in the ignition. The statement that he didn't know where to go was a good point to which he rebuffed, "There's a handy function called a GPS on my phone…" and added, "Plus, you could always tell me where to turn." It dampened his spirits when she agreed and thanked him only because Ariadne must have been enormously upset to give in and let someone help her. After downing some of the Tylenol stashed in her purse, her knees pulled to her chest as he backed out of the driveway, half looking where he was going and half worrying about her emotional state. Unfortunately. "Turn left at the next two stop signs and then a right when you get to the road." There was a split second of self-hatred in Arthur for being an emotionally stinted person because if this is what it felt like to ride in a car with him during a hard situation, he sympathized with every person that told him that bottling his emotions 'at a time like this' was unhealthy. She was acting like he would: shutting down, trying to pretend it's not getting to her, becoming a short worded, tightlipped mystery of a person and it was infuriating. Was he that infuriating?"You need to be in the far right lane. At the next light, veer onto the interstate."

"Interstate?"

"The Holts live in Myrtle Beach; it's thirty minutes away from us." She crossed her arms and looked out her window. Twenty minutes into the drive and every time he glanced over at her, her eyebrows had been furrowed and her jaw set but not a trace of a tear. Ariadne was the kind of person that wore her heart on her sleeve, the kind of person that was passionate about everything in her life, who valued her relationships with the people around her more than anything. Arthur was sharing this car ride with an entirely altered person. He could only imagine the flurry of thoughts swirling in her mind and how the _real _Ariadne must be struggling to ignore them. "Get off at the Wilcox exit and veer left." Those were the only words she'd spoken to him. Normally, if Ariadne could get him alone somewhere she attempted to con him into telling her personal things like his birthday and where he grew up. By miracle, they arrived at Stan and Maia Holt's house (there were so many turns and back roads Arthur was surprised anyone could find the place). Robotically, Ariadne hopped out of the car, found the spare key and let herself in. Arthur left the car running but trailed behind. And easily enough that task was done too.

"Alright. We said we'd pick up dinner, what are you in the mood for?" Arthur inquired from the driver seat after Ariadne had led him out of the Labyrinth that was the Holt's neighborhood and they were on the freeway. She replied "I'm not really hungry. You can pick somewhere." He'd heard that phrase too many times before when she was swamped with work at the warehouse. Arthur had a personal relationship with that phrase himself. That sentence meant she wasn't going to eat. Loss of appetite goes hand in hand with grief (or so says the articles he read about it) and the Point wasn't fixing to watch her starve herself for the next couple of days (for the benefit of the job waiting on them in LA) so he quipped, "We've been running all day, you need to eat something. You've eaten very little."

"I had a banana before we got on the plane and chili before we left with mom."

"In a bowl the size of a mug and you barely finished it. It's impossible to believe that was enough sustenance." The blinker flipped on and their vehicle changed lanes to gain speed.

Ariadne huffed, "Just because my dad is off vegetating in the hospital doesn't mean you have to pick up where he left off."

Silence filled the car for several minutes. The two of them mindlessly watched the road in front of them and the miles they devoured with their distance. To anyone else, Ariadne would've appeared to be fuming, absolutely livid with him. The way she was breathing—in an almost exaggerated manner. Suck in. Shove out. Her arms folded across her chest, the bemused line on her face where her mouth normally sat, the occasional eye roll when she sensed him beholding her. To someone who'd observed people and their body language for a living, it was like critiquing the performance of an exceptional actress and looking for the flaws in their game of pretend. Or perhaps it was like that game you played as a child. The one in the activity books where you'd be given an arrangement of pictures or words and told to find which one didn't belong. If he were guessing Ariadne's emotions like that game she'd be one of those difficult lists where technically everything made sense and was in place: A pail, a shovel, a towel, gardening gloves. Which doesn't belong? On the one hand it could be a list of things used in the garden…in which a towel would be out. Or it could be a list of things used at the beach…a place where gardening gloves would be useless. So what didn't match with Ariadne? She could roll her eyes at him in a continuous loop and hold her face in the hardest of shapes for the rest of night but when he saw her reflection in her window she couldn't cover over the fact that her eyes looked lost and frightened and desperate to release the tears she refused herself. And though her arms may have been folded up in the universal signal of indifference and annoyance, her hands clenched her jacket beneath her elbows as if she'd never been more cold in her life and she only wanted to hold her jacket as tight to her as possible. She wasn't angry with Arthur, not really. It wasn't that she wasn't in the mood to eat and he voiced his concern for it. It wasn't about his insistence for her to pick where they ate dinner or that he sounded condescending. It was because her father was in critical condition at the hospital and her brother was dead. Simple. Ariadne's newfound personality was a byproduct of forcing herself to be strong when all she needed was to let herself be weak; of putting on a firm face to take care of everyone else at the time she most needed to be taken care of. So Arthur strived to make himself one less problem for her to worry about, "I apologize if I gave off the impression of trying to parent you. I'm just concerned about your wellbeing. I only meant to be helpful."

The Architect wouldn't acknowledge him for quite a few minutes. A quick sigh sounded over the air conditioning vents before she relented and suggested Sonny's BBQ, "The one right by the exit into town does carry out…I'm kind of craving their amazing pulled pork sandwiches." He smiled and pulled in.  
xxxxxxx  
There was tons of cooking done that night. Casseroles, deviled eggs, fruit and potato salad were in the fridge and several crockpots cluttered the counters full of things slowly heating through. The sink was piled high with used whisks and bowls and pans and now the kitchen table was decorated with take out bags, wrappers, containers and cups of sauces as the three ate their barbeque at long last. The Point Man had never had the delicacy that was Sonny's Barbecue and from his first bite he was hooked on the southern East Coast wonder. Shannon joked, "It almost looks like we're having a party tomorrow, doesn't it?" Arthur looked the rest of the kitchen over agreeably. Ariadne pulled apart her sandwich and dipped it in the sweet sauce without making eye contact or cracking a smile, "Yeah mom. Real party."

Shannon then tried to change the subject with a chip of good news, "The Doctor at the hospital called and said your father won't have to have surgery. The new bleed is only on the frontal lobe and shouldn't spread so they're going to check it in another thirty days."

"Ah..so they're going to leave his brain soaking in blood until something bad happens and they _have _to have surgery. Brilliant." A cursory glimpse in Arthur's direction had her biting her lip and blinking her eyes to keep from getting worked up in front of him.

It wasn't the reaction Shannon was expecting. She put her fork down and looked at Ariadne intently, demanding to meet her eyes and have a serious discussion about it. The mother of the Architect fixed her with a challenging glare, "Would you rather they open his head up?"

Ariadne mimicked her mother's actions, "If it'll fix him."

"It's not that easy, Ariadne. Sucking blood out of his brain isn't going to make him walk again. Just opening up his head isn't going to make him the person he was before the accident."

"Then what the fuck are we doing?" The arms of the Parisian flew in the air the same time her mom scolded her for her language. "What? If there's no hope for him what are we doing paying all these hospital bills and waiting for something in his brain to blow? Just bring him home where he's comfortable and watch as he dissolves." Arthur suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable, like he was intruding. He silently got up and acted to throw some trash away and clean the pile of dishes so the Bourgeois' wouldn't feel his presence in their private business.

"We're just waiting to see if his brain will correct itself before we go hacking away at his scalp. I'm not saying there's no chance he'll be the same it will just take a long time and more than one miraculous surgery for him to get that way." Her mother explained. The Architect had already abandoned the last half of her sandwich and was rubbing her forehead. Arthur could clearly detect the quiver in Shannon's voice when she softened it and caught her put her hand on her daughter's out of the corner of his eye, "Don't give up hope on your father, Ariadne. People have come back from much worse."

Ariadne's hand wrenched out from under her mother's with a wrath and pushed her food away as she got up from the table, "Yeah…well let me know when Alex comes back from the dead." Arthur stood in shock because for the first time, he'd witnessed a droplet of water fall out of the Architect's eyes. Shannon dropped her head in her hands and started crying. Arthur didn't know what to do with himself…so he packaged Ariadne's food back up and put it in the fridge assuming she might be hungry to finish it later and then offered to take Shannon's trash for her. Common knowledge said he wasn't good with emotions. Shannon lifted her head and he saw a wave of Ariadne's face in the woman. The same nose, the same mouth. He saw the same heart through the red rims on her eyes and the tearstains down her cheek. "Thank you, Arthur, "she handed him the bag full of her crusts and used utensils, "I'm sorry you have to see our family like this."  
xxxxxxx

**Next Chapter: **Arthur (actually) attempts to cheer Ariadne up… ;-) I promise you'll like it. So review, review, puhlease. Title of this chapter from the Bruno Mars song.

If you're bored waiting for an update from this story or another and wanna take a look at what I pictured Young Ariadne wearing (plus her sailor moon backpack and piggy bank) on her seven year old escape to the airport… Picture is on my profile. I had fun picking out her crazy style. The kid doesn't look _too _much like Ellen (plays Ariadne in movie) but enough to picture the outfit on a young ellen, I think.


	4. The Lake

Thanks to: _Lauraa-x: _Haha the piggy bank is so her. Yeah, Arthur's still attempting to keep everything non-committal. Him commenting at all on the dress was an anomaly. He made up for it by using a lackluster word. And yup, you guessed it right. _lilachiccups: _She'll be ok. =) This is no Hooded. Hahahah. _numbah435spiritsong: _In no way did I mean you _should_, I just meant that I'd like you to. Haha. But thanks! Yeah, I feel like with Arthur…it definitely wasn't your normal relationship process.

Thank you my two story followers and one favorite: _Nina.4444 _(I remember you from Say It or Follow the Red…Hi again!) and _Sprouty11. _

**Chapter 4: The Lake**

So far the day had been rough. And that was just through Arthur's point of view. They had gotten up early to set the tables in the living area and straighten up the house to be guest ready. They had leftovers from the night before for lunch, Shannon visited Gerard and came back and then they had to show up to the funeral service early, they had to be there to sign for and receive the coffin, set out the guest book, the flowers and some favorite pictures of Alex. Shannon had also written a eulogy she wanted to speak with the pastor about reading for her. It was deserted in the funeral home besides the three of them…the sadness slowly creeping in and getting ready to swallow up the guests. While the mother was talking about the words to be spoken and Ariadne was dusting off the seats in which to be sat Arthur took the liberty of looking over the frames in the lobby (mostly to be out of the way.) Alex was a good looking man and seemed to have a happy life judging by the pictures. There were two of him and Ariadne as children. One where she couldn't have been older that four, on the couch, kissing her baby brother on the forehead and one of them as kids playing in the backyard. Lamentably, her toothless grin and chubby cheeks made him smile. The first guests to arrive made themselves known by way of commenting on the pictures, "I always thought those two were twins, they were so in sync with the other." The Point turned to see an older couple maybe in their seventies, the woman's hand on her chest in a pitying manner while she nodded along to her husband's comment. "Poor Ariadne must feel torn in half."

The actual ceremony was worse. Arthur had made the offer to sit in the back with other funeral goers but Shannon maintained he sit on the first row with her, Ariadne and other family members. Ariadne hadn't made an inclination whether she objected to her mother's invitation to him or not. The Point's eyes were on The Architect more than they were on the pastor during the service. There were sporadic sniffles through the room, Shannon was beside herself, everyone around them was devastated and yet when Arthur checked on Ariadne she was fine. Or so it would appear. Or so she was trying to appear. There was no life in her eyes and her ears obviously didn't comprehend everything the rest of the attendees were blubbering over. Her left hand was held in a death grip by her mother whose head rested on Ariadne's shoulder as well. Like a good daughter should, Ariadne reciprocated her mother's needs for comfort; she rested her head on the top of Shannon's and patted her hand with her free one but with little compassion in her actions. As if she was merely going through the motions.

Only when they were standing outside under a tent and the pastor was reciting what Shannon had written as the coffin was being lowered into the ground did Ariadne show evidence of her mental presence. The first few sentences off the paper were, "In my dreams dear, you seem to leave me. When I awake, my poor heart pains. So when you come back and make me happy…I'll forgive you dear, I'll take the blame." Immediately, the girl standing next to Arthur darted her head towards her mom. When Shannon only stared ahead and continued silently crying and gripping her hand, Ariadne's face returned front same as it had been. "As a parent, this is a day you never hope to see. I've always accepted that one day it would be you and Ariadne burying me…forgive me that it is the other way around. If I close my eyes I can still hear the sounds of you and Addy playing castle in the house as children, the little jabs at each other when you were teenagers—that you laughed about as soon as they were said. I keep thinking that if I wish hard enough I'll be able to see your two toothless faces smiling at me through the kitchen window or your ever moving shadows on the floor again. But my babies are gone; one of them forever. You and Ariadne were always each other's sunshine, my sweet Alex, but it is everyone's sun being eclipsed by your absence. Everyone's skies are grey today." Arthur noticed the way the breathing pattern of the girl next to him sped up. Still no tears but the beginning of a furrowing eyebrow and stubborn swallows. "I love you forever and hope to see you soon."

Shannon was the first to leave a rose and the first to leave the ceremony. They had taken two cars so she could go back and set out the food. Ariadne and Arthur stayed behind to collect the pictures and guestbook, distribute the flower arrangements and watch the remainder of the burial. She was the last to put a white rose before they covered it up. From where he was standing several feet back, Arthur could still read the words 'I love you, Alexander.' and see the careful way she smoothed and corrected the big white bow on his casket with what he made out as, 'Let me fix you.' Still, she'd shown far less feeling than natural for a grieving sibling. Far less than even her episode in the warehouse after she'd gotten the call.  
xxxxxx

"Mom, I'm going to make more lemonade and see if we have any extra deviled eggs." Ariadne found a break in one of her mom's small talk conversations to say she was slipping into the kitchen. Her mother proposed to help but Ariadne made up an excuse about the guests needing one of them present and scurried off to what she considered her island of solace. There was no one else in the kitchen. It was the only place she could excuse herself to that was quiet. Away from pitying eyes, sympathetic words and fake smiles. For now, she could take the mask off and let things sink in. An orange glass pitcher with white cherries sprinkled across was the one she pulled out of the cupboard and filled to the brim with water. The serving calculated package of crystal light lemon was ripped open and poured in. It was in the process of stirring that the images from earlier connected: A casket lowered into the ground, a white rose in her hand awaiting its destination on top of the dirt, having to force a goodbye. She'd stopped stirring but the whirlpool made in the pitcher kept swirling, taking the wooden spoon with it, around and around. Her elbows rested on the counter, her palms dug into her eyes, she breathed heavily preparing for the onslaught of emotion and then—

"Ariadne."

_Not him…._The Architect held her breath at the sound of his tenor. Hands trailed down her face and returned to the spoon. Her composure mostly recovered apart from a sniffled, "Hey…" that she hoped could pass as allergies. The spoon was dropped into the sink and the stove clicked off. Busying herself so she wouldn't have to look at him, Ariadne strained the pot of boiled eggs and ran cold water over, preparing to crack and de-shell them. His hand came down on hers. "Stop."

"What?" She was good at feigning many things but faltered this go around. His answer startled her: "Holding it all in. You've been stone faced all day. All weekend—"

"I'm trying out my inner Point Man."

"No, you're trying to be strong for everyone else so _they_ can grieve. Your mom, your aunts and cousins, your brother's friends. Ariadne it was _your _dad and _your _brother. You shouldn't be the one in here making lemonade and mashing yolks."

Was he seriously getting on to her for handling it this way? Did she not grieve properly for him or something? You would think he would've approved of her lack of feeling. "What do you expect me to do? I'm the optimist of the family. None of them are strong enough to be theshoulder to cry on so_ I_ have to be."

Arthur shook his head and locked his eyes into her. It felt awkward and yet soothing. "Not right now. Right now—" He stopped himself while he could. No matter how noble it was, how well mannered, it was dangerous. He was fixing to offer something that would alter the arms' length relationship he'd been careful to keep. He was fixing to become more than the Point Man, more than the coworker. Arthur was fixing to step in as a friend. And yet, he didn't like seeing her this way. He'd rather break one of his commandments than to allow her to continue to suffer, "I can be the shoulder. It's why I came—"

"You came to help deal with the business side. You don't do feelings, you don't do comfort.—" She argued.

"Do what you need to do. If you need to cry, cry. If you need to yell, yell. If you feel like hitting me, do it. You can't go back to LA and the job like a shaken up can of coke. You need to deal with this so there are no repercussions back in the dream." Yeah. That was how he justified it. That he was looking out for the job and the team.

Could she cry in front of him? The one thing she swore she'd never do was let Arthur think she was weak. But she wasn't weak. She was heartbroken, devastated and terribly so. She was tired of swallowing back the lump in her throat, tired of blinking away tears instead of letting them fall, tired of rubbing comforting circles on everyone else's back while only creating knots in hers. And here someone was—thinking about _her _for a change. Her head was shaking back and forth and tears welling up. Stubbornly, the girl stilled and struggled to keep them at bay, "Arthur…"

The crack in her voice cracked his armor. Arthur stood in front of a girl who'd lost her brother, practically her father, who felt alone and scared and overwhelmed. It had to be bad for smart mouthed, independent Ariadne to need someone to lean on. How inhuman would it be to remain cold and indifferent to her? She threatened to bite clean through her lip. It was easy to tell she was fixing to explode from concentrating so hard on being unfazed. "It's ok. You can cry in front of me." He steeled and rigidly pulled her towards him. It was clumsy and stiff when he attempted to outstretch his arms and envelop her. From there his arm cautiously found the back of her head and the other, the small of her back to hold her in a hug. He wasn't sure if he was doing it right, it'd been too long since he'd hugged someone. She shifted awkwardly—not knowing what to do at first with his effort to comfort. But you know what?

Arthur never felt more useful then when she tightly wrapped her arms around his waist and let loose a waterfall of tears into his chest.  
xxxxxx

"Thank you. I needed that." Emotions rippled through her for round about fifteen minutes. He had comforted her without a word and really without movement. He maintained his pose and let her hang on him, use him as a stress reliever. When she pulled away her eyes were red and puffy and her mascara had run (which she now tried to take care of with a wet dishrag) but she looked ten times better. The tension gone from her. The sadness would still linger for hours perhaps months until she got used to a world without half her family but she wasn't a shaken up bottle of soda waiting to explode anymore.

"See?"

Eyes squinted and features winced, "I'm sorry about getting your suit all wet and mascara-y. I know you hate hugs."

The Point Man didn't mention the bodily contact but addressed her concern, "Water dries. Suits can be dry cleaned." It rolled it off both their backs while the man observed the woman as she cracked and peeled the shell off the eggs. It was a shame, she was tasked with being alone in here, preparing all the food for everyone else instead of out with her family. When Ariadne picked up the next egg he swiftly intercepted and grabbed it himself. "Let me do that. You go back out and enjoy your company…"

"No way." It was comical the way her eyes widened and her head seemed to spasm negatively.  
"They're suffocating me in there." They silently peeled the rest of the eggs together and each took half the batch, cut them open and emptied the yolks into a blue plastic bowl. The opened whites were laid out in a circle in some plastic tray her mom owned just for deviled eggs. While she finished the last one of her half, The Point opened the fridge and pulled out the ingredients they would soon need. "Uhh..mustard, mayo, relish?" He named them as he simultaneously pulled them out and set them on the counter.

"No relish!" Quickly corrected the Parisian to which he faked utter disbelief, "_No_ relish?" but obliged and put it back anyway. She grabbed the contents he'd pulled out and took them and the bowl to the island in the middle of the kitchen, pulled out a spoon and opened the mayonnaise. She called out, "And there should be garlic powder in the pantry. Top left."

As she waited for the key ingredient (her secret one), Ariadne mashed the yellows and mixed in the mayo. She saw him return to her side out of the corner of her eye but paid no mind as she squirted the mustard in and mixed it around too. When she was ready for the garlic, Arthur held it in front of her face. When she grabbed for it—"Really? Are we twelve again?" His arm was so long he merely had to hold it to his side for it to be too far from her. Ariadne crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. Magically, it was brought back to her and set on the counter. Laughing and shaking her head she picked it—

"Arthur!" Nope. Too fast for her. It was in his grasp and this time his arm was high above his head. Ariadne folded her arms across her chest again and returned his self-satisfied smirk with a motherly look that scolded him without opening her mouth. "Ok..that's not funny…" The Point Man didn't speak. The Architect looked above her head. The guy was six foot something, she had no hope of reaching it even if she sprouted wings. A normal sized person couldn't reach it and the planet knew she was abnormally short. "That's actually pretty mean." His smirk deepened as the shaker moved around tauntingly. Ariadne refused, "I'm not jumping for it."

Arthur's face was straight as a board. His voice serious as a heartbeat when he concluded (in his Point voice), "Then I guess your _special_ deviled eggs won't have any garlic." He clicked his teeth and received a glare full of lasers in return. Ariadne grabbed a nearby sitting stool and plopped it down in front of him so that the metal legs made a loud, angry, clanking sound. It came very close to slamming on his foot which she would've enjoyed had it happened. Nevertheless, she stood on the stool and found herself a perfect height to conveniently reach across and—"That's cheating." Arthur moved his arm farther over, Ariadne fought for her balance. Never would she have thought The Point Man sadistic if she hadn't heard his amused chuckle at her flailing. Had she ever heard him chuckle before? She took a millisecond to overthink it and almost face planted.

The girl was steadied, one of his arms around her waist, her hands on his shoulders. Eye to eye. Challenging. Daring. Their faces so close that the taller of the two was incapable of missing a few more details: like how she grit her teeth to keep the illusion of a scowl when the corners of her mouth wanted to smile. It made his cheeky upturn of lips even cheekier.

"Addy, are you almost—" Shannon bounded in and immobilized, "Oh—I'm sorry." Arthur left the view of her stunned mother and turned his head to gauge The Architect's reaction, extricating his arms in the process. Feeling dirty because of the lack of professionalism. Ariadne's blush crept down her neck while she grimaced, "Just putting in the finishing touches."

Shannon grabbed the new pitcher of lemonade and muttered under her breath, "I'll say."

With great displeasure, Ariadne clipped, "We'll be out in a minute, Mom."

"Take your time…"

"Oh my God, I hate you." Arthur was pushed playfully before she hopped off the stool and it was set aside again. "Now that you've fueled those unwanted flames…can I have my garlic powder? People are waiting."

Arthur shrugged, the childish side took over again. "She said to take our time…"

Where did the mischievous sparkle in her eye come from?And why was she eyeing his waist area? Because Eames had let her in on a few secrets, one of them being the spot you can poke to make him squirm. Bravely, The Architect squeezed his side and his body contorted; the shaker of garlic powder fell through the air like a grenade. "Shit…" Luckily, it landed in the bowl it was destined for. Unluckily, it released an intolerable amount into her carefully measured mixture. She tried scooping some excess out to no avail.

"I think it needs more garlic." His monotone said over the sound of the spoon hitting the sides of the bowl as she rigorously whisked. The whisk yanked out of the bowl and pointed at him like a weapon, "Shut up."

They added more mustard to balance it out and in trying to balance out, most flavor in the yolks was gone but they tried to forge ahead and finished refilling the eggs. As a reward, they helped themselves to one each. Ariadne gagged, "That would be the most disgusting egg I've ever had. My reputation is ruined."

"Your own fault." He seemed to enjoy the egg as he shoved the rest of it in his mouth without hesitation or scrunching his face in disgust. He even eyed the tray like he would like another.

"It's _my_ fault you didn't nicely hand over the garlic like the gentleman you claim to be?"

"Could've said please and it would've been all yours. There are such things as manners, Ariadne." The Architect was ninety-nine point nine percent sure that the glint of humor in his eyes was some sort of alien that had taken over his body. Like what would've happened in Prometheus if Noomi Rapace's character kept carrying her alien baby. She'd seen this side of Arthur a total of three times now and wondered if there was a pattern to it. Was there something specific she said or did that triggered personality number two? Because she'd start saying or doing it more often.

Arthur wasn't sure he could pinpoint what made him think he should go from a courteous consoler to a wily playmate but he did. In the moment, relieving her strain didn't seem like enough. He fancied cheering her up too. He wouldn't think much on it.

Xxxxxx

"Ad." Ariadne's mom barely tapped her daughter's shoulder. The Architect had sat down on the couch—after hours of strenuous small talk, replenishing refreshments and reluctantly hosting—and drifted off into a peaceful rest. One of her aunts (the overbearing, snob-nosed Karen) was leaning over the back of the couch and calling to the Architect, shaking her more violently than the other woman had. "Ariadne…There's still people here." Karen folded her arms and gave Ariadne's mom a disdainful look. Maybe Karen was really _Arthur's_ aunt instead. Shannon just shrugged and informer her sister how tired Ariadne was and deservedly so. Karen wasn't pleased with that excuse. As long as people continued to stop by, she believed Ariadne should continue to mingle. She nudged her niece again and demanded, "Addy Grace."

Ariadne's muscles were so relaxed that they refused to cooperate, Arthur noticed. Her stomach muscles flexed to bring her upright but quickly lost strength in time with the wrinkle of her forehead and eyebrows. He suspected her attempt to reply when her voice made a view broken sounds. She moaned at the volume of a sigh and finally pushed herself to strangle out, "Alex?"

"No sweetie," Her mom dampened and began to cry before caressing Ariadne's cheek, "it's-"

Arthur interrupted. "Let her sleep; she's had a long and grueling day."

"We all have." Her aunt looked at him with a look of disbelief and gestured around at the guests milling about as if to say she was in the way.

"With all due respect, it's harder to bottle it up and be everyone's crutch than to weep uncontrollably at every urge. She's had to be very strong for everyone else today. In my humble opinion, I think you should leave her alone." Arthur remarked, gently picking her up like a bride, "I'll carry her upstairs since she appears to be in your way." Both Shannon and Karen looked at him incredulously but for different reasons.

Karen slapped her hands on her hips and asked her sister, "Was that a dig at me?"

Ariadne's room was different than he expected. He estimated reds and art and simplistic modern decor. Instead he found yellow walls, white furniture, and posters of the Eiffel tower; a teenager's room. There were ribbons from horse shows and medals from soccer. Pictures of Ariadne missing two teeth, being silly with friends, at prom with a scraggly tenth grade boy. A desk housing a plethora of art supplies and supporting a tv. It felt too personal for Arthur to encroach upon but he plowed forward and placed her in bed, tucked the black and white polka dot comforter up to her shoulders. Her room was captivating…perhaps because it was her point of origin. She grew up in that room, had sleepovers there, fought sickness, did homework in it, cried herself to sleep after her first broken heart in it, perhaps angrily chased her brother out of it. The girl's sleeping form rustled and shook him out of his thoughts, caught Arthur in the throes of curiosity. There he was letting the file become a person. The sketch become a picture. Quickly, he abandoned those four walls, closed the door and returned to the reception before he could become any more invested in her past.  
xxxxxx

Everyone had cleared from the house by eight-thirty, yet, Arthur felt the need to help clean the kitchen and straighten up after everyone before retiring to his room. Shannon insisted he take a slice of apple pie up with him, so he sat and ate it while he shot an email to Cobb and updated some information in the job file. He took a shower and set out his suit for tomorrow, did a bit of poking around in the files the Bourgeois' had given him with information about the make-up of the business and then took his used pie plate downstairs to wash as an excuse to get a glass of milk. The house was dark yet static and voices were heard clearly through the bottom floor of the house. As he neared the kitchen, he discovered why. Shannon had fallen asleep on the couch with a box of home videos by her feet. Blue and white lights flashed on the wall and Arthur's face as the tv replayed one of them. It showed their backyard, with an arch in front of the pier and a few men straightening the rows of chairs. Mason jars filled with candles created an aisle and a woman was fixing the sunflowers decorating the archway. In a yellow dress with a white sash and puffed sleeves was a little girl sitting in the middle row, her feet swinging into the aisle as she hung her head low to draw on her paper. There was a low hum of talking but nothing distinct…so Arthur left the living room to put his dish in the sink and get his beverage. On his way to the stairs a little voice stopped his tracks. "Addy!" Realizing the little girl was Ariadne as soon as she lifted her head, he walked back into the living room wondering what kind of a child she was down on record as being (despite himself). "Alex, soyez prudent! You're gonna break the camera." The raspy tiny voice to call out to her was from a little figure, bouncing into frame (and knocking into the camera, making the picture bump and fuzz for a few seconds and when the picture came back it was tilted and he was standing in front of her). "Je suis desole." He was probably six or seven…decked out in suit pants, a collared shirt, a nice vest and yellow bowtie (probably to match his sister.) Young Ariadne then looked from her brother to the camera and sighed; She came closer, Alex right behind. Suddenly her face was very large and the camera's angle was corrected. She looked to be ten or eleven…Her brother kept talking, "Hey Addy, what is redoing your bows?"

They backed up so as not to be so close to the camera. Though slightly to the right of center frame, the two children were in perfect view, "I think you mean renewing your vows."

"Yeah, what is it?"

The young Architect bit her lip in thought. (So it was habit in her early life as well?) "You know when we went to cousin Jim's wedding and the guy in between them said a bunch of stuff and they had to repeat it?" Alex's curly topped head nodded enthusiastically, "Those are vows. Some people repeat them and some make up their own words like mom and dad." Arthur discovered he was smiling at her almost nasal sounding voice.

Alex's face scrunched as he began clapping his hands over Ariadne's. She held them out for him as they continued talking, "But why do they have to do it again? Did they expire like our milk?"

"Non…it's just something special to do. You know how I got a bigger birthday party than normal when I turned ten?" It was too much information. He was becoming too acquainted with the kind of person Ariadne was, the things she did as a child, the relationship with her brother, the birthday parties she had—that's what the logical part of his mind was thinking. What was left of it was ignoring the protests.

"Yeah! Cause now your two-digits! Maman said I could have a big one too. I want it to be Dinosaurs."

Ariadne laughed the same laugh just in a higher pitch and kept explaining to her brother as they clapped hands, "Ok so ten is a big number for birthdays and fifteen is a big number for weddings! So they get a special anniversary. And they wanted to make it special by saying words they only ever say to each other."

"Like we only sing Sunshine to each other?"

Ariadne chewed on her lip again and then nodded, "Sort of like that, yeah." Then the little girl pulled up her skirt a hair so she wouldn't get it dirty as she kneeled and then fluffed it again. The female child in the video pulled the little boy closer and said, "Les gens seront bientot ici. Let me fix you." His shirt had come un-tucked from the jumping around, he hadn't buttoned his vest, one side of his collar had been brushed up and his bowtie was askew. Arthur chuckled as he watched Ariadne do what she did best—care for others. She started tucking in her little brother's shirt. The raspy voice of his started a melody while he watched, "_In my dreams dear, you seem to leave me. When I awake, my poor heart pains. So when you come back and make me happy. I'll forgive you dear, I'll take the blame." _The words from Shannon's eulogy. The only words of the day that made Ariadne react. He should head back upstairs…

Ariadne grinned at the boy, buttoned his vest and folded his collar as she joined his tune, _"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are grey. You'll never know dear, how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away." _

"Je t'aime, Ariadne."

"Et vous."

Then little Ariadne stood and took his hand to pull him towards the archway; she pointed him towards the right side and then went and stood on the left. Arthur recognized a much younger looking Aunt Karen and Helena coming into frame and heading towards the left side of the arch. Helena giggled and pulled Ariadne's hair back, "What were you two up to?"

Across the way, Alex yelled, "Me and Addy were redoing our bows, too!"

Stern as ever Karen corrected, "Addy and_ I_, Alex."

"No you weren't," said the boy confusedly.

Arthur heard Shannon sniff and lightly cry. It was then that he realized she hadn't been asleep, so he excused himself back upstairs. The descant of the Bourgeois children stuck in his head.  
xxxxxxx

Arthur had always been a light sleeper. Even as a young boy, the slightest noise or sliver of light would wake him. His super senses were only heightened by his exposure to the dreamshare world; years of paranoia were no good for his sleeping habits. It was the refrigerator door, this time; The freezer drawer pulling out and then closing and then the creak of another door's hinges. Arthur sat up and sharpened his ears, instinctively resting his hand on the handgun laying on the nightstand. There was time for a quick glance at the clock (reading 2:23 am) before he heard rustles, whispering and iron grinding…He was out of bed and at the window seat in a flash, pulling up the blinds just far enough to lean down and see who was intruding on the Bourgeois property.

xxxxxx

Ariadne bolted upright in her bed, heaving. Cobb was right. The worst dreams to have are the ones full of memories. They'd been of her brother and her horsing around in the lake in their backyard. It was their place of solace and inside jokes. They spent entire summers in that lake alone and snuck into it on some winters too. As an afterthought, the Architect checked her totem; she hadn't remembered falling asleep in bed. She wondered why she cared if this was reality. She sincerely hoped it wasn't because she didn't like feeling this way. She didn't want to believe the call from her mom and the funeral had been real. For a long while the Architect laid and stared at the ceiling thinking about all the 'lasts' she'd shared with her brother. When was their last meal together? What was the last thing she said to him? "Shut up and give the phone to mom, Weasel" on the phone. She should've gone home for his birthday last April. Why didn't she call them on Thanksgiving? The guilt got to be overwhelming enough that when Ariadne looked at the clock and read 2:21 am she realized she'd been reliving old regrets and remembrances for an hour. She looked out her window and found such comfort in the familiar lake, it pulled her out to it but not before she grabbed a pb&j from the freezer.

Some brush had grown up over the iron gate that enclosed their patio and scratched her as she tried to claw it off, eliciting a curse and quiet grumbling about Alex not keeping his chore up. The gate was left open after she pushed through and walked along the small pier.  
xxxxxx

It was no threat. Just a short figure in her pajamas. Arthur wondered if it was safe for her to be out there alone even if their neighbors were a nice distance away. He felt like a guard dog with the need to watch over her for protection.

Ariadne sat down at the edge of the pier, swirling her foot around in the lake and biting off what he suspected to be a left over sandwich. She looked positively innocent and content to be out there, though he couldn't see her face but only the silhouette of it. (Could he have seen it, he would've seen she was anything but happy). Arthur sat in the window seat to get a better look at her. The bottom of her red striped pants were soaking and clinging to her shins. After another bite she leaned over and dipped her hand into the black water, making ripples. He continued watching her like that: immersed in her self-thought, absentmindedly picking away at her sandwich and manipulating the waters below her, never realizing why the scene before him gave her a sense of calm and him a sense of wariness.

The lake on first glance would seem foreboding. The water was so black and still that it looked like a black hole. The trees around the lake hung over the edges of the land like hands or claws reaching out, ready to snatch up a lonely visitor. How anyone could be comfortable amidst the unfriendliness of the lake was a mystery to him. It was eerie to watch her down there; He waited for something to happen, unsure of what but convinced it was bad. Like the dock was a snare, a trap baring its teeth waiting for her to trust it so it could swallow her up. Minute by minute passed to his amazement as her lake let her be. Perhaps, the lonely lake and the evil trees knew he was watching and were behaving out of terror. Terror that he would dry it up and cut them down should they lay a cold, stilly finger on her. The Parisian's crust was thrown into the water, signifying she was finished with her sandwich. Instead of standing up, brushing herself off and returning to the safe and welcoming walls of her home like he expected, Ariadne took her feet out of the water and slowly backed away from the side of pier. Arthur peered into the darkness to see what she was backing away from. Had someone appeared on the other side of the lake and called out to her? Had something in the lake grabbed her? He disliked this lake he decided. The Architect didn't act alarmed or frightened or panicked. No, she put her hands behind her head and laid down on the dock.

Air rushed through Arthur's airways and hitched in the swell of his sternum. It hit him like a train coming at him full speed. _Loneliness._ Such lovely loneliness in the way the light of the moon graced her face. The trees didn't tower, ready to grab and tear apart anymore, they swayed and danced in the breeze. The lake was suddenly less of a black hole and more of a mirror for the moon to look down and admire itself in. Arthur liked being on his own. He only trusted himself, he only needed himself. He'd never known the melancholy feeling of isolation. Of wanting the company of others. He was perfectly satisfied. Alone but never lonely. So how was he capable of empathizing? Why did something a bit like sadness seep into his core the longer he observed her?

Xxxxxxx

**Next Chapter: **Dissolving day at her dad's office, dinner with the Holt's and Ari/Arthur becoming a little like something called good friends. Ruuuhhview pretty please?

**Song (title) of this Chapter:** Inspired by 'The Lake' by Antony and the Johnsons. It's a beautiful, beautiful song based on an Edgar Allen Poe(?) poem I believe.

**Elaboration: **Guess what? The pictures Arthur looked at of Ariadne and Alex on display at his funeral are on my profile as one big collage. The face claim for Alex is all different for each age but the people looked the same-ish. Specially the baby cause you can't really tell. All the pictures of Ariadne except for the one where she's holding the baby are actually Ellen Page. (The floral dress and pink bike? Best believe it.)


	5. So Nice, So Smart

Thank you reviewers! You make my world go round. _Lauraa-x _and _numbah435spiritsong. _

Also thank you story follower: _Sarahpumpkin._

**Chapter 5: So Nice, So Smart**

Arthur awoke to birds chirping and a streamer of sunlight shooting across his face. With a raise of his neck, a sharp pinch caught in his spine. The more he woke up, the stronger his awareness of his aching body. His legs were bent up awkwardly, his back curved like an 'S', his neck was stuck in its spot by the window. The window? Arthur must've dozed off while he was keeping watch on the Architect. The Point Man surmised that if he stepped away and curled up back in bed, he would be abandoning Ariadne to the mercy of the lake. So he sat in the window and settled in to guard. Ariadne looked so peaceful on the dock—something Arthur rarely had the privilege to experience when he visited home. Envy was an emotion he detected while she relaxed contentedly. Envy and admiration and a fondness. A flicker of it. Like the first spark of a flame on the lighter.

A soft rapping of knuckles sounded on his door. "Just a second." Noticing the figure on the dock had vanished long ago, he rubbed his face with his palms and stood, groaning at the twist of nerves in his spine. Arthur shuffled to the door and opened it.

Ariadne was bright eyed, bushy tailed and already dressed for the day: simple jeans, a dark blue Henley and a houndstooth infinity scarf. The girl was always late getting to the workshop in the morning and the meeting time was nine. The current time was eight thirty and she'd beaten Arthur…who normally beat the sunrise. "Wow… you don't sleep in a tuxedo?" Arthur started and dropped his gaze to survey his clothing. The ever dressed to the nine's Point Man stood in his undershirt and hunter green plaid pajama pants. Utterly embarrassed and feeling exposed without his hair gel—all feelings that multiplied when Ariadne bit back a smile as his socks—Arthur closed the door until only half of his face and body were visible through a crack. "My mom and I made breakfast if you want some. We were thinking we'd head to my dad's office in half an hour." The Architect leaned against the doorframe. It came as a random shock to see her up close again. The night before had seemed otherworldly to the Point Man on reflection. Like he'd only dreamt of singing children and a lonely lake and the bizarre reactions they incurred in him…it was an unsettling concept. One that caused him to scramble in his pocket for his dice only to realize he didn't have pockets and the totem was forgotten by the window sill. Ariadne, of course, was completely unaware of his intrusion on her privacy but Arthur—He cleared his throat (and halfway hoped it would clear his mind) "Yeah, I'll be right down. Give me a few moments."

Arthur felt closer to her. In the matter of one night. In the time between nodding off and being stirred into consciousness again, there had grown a bond. Not a large one. Nothing extravagant and principle defying but any bond was grounds for concern with the Point Man. It was hard to pinpoint—well, no it wasn't. Perhaps it was his mistake in viewing the home video and seeing her as a child, stepping foot into her room and familiarizing himself with her past. Or maybe it was meeting the family, hearing stories, eating, sleeping and traveling around in a world (a town) that was completely Ariadne's. A place where it was impossible to escape _every_ piece of her. Or what about seeing her grieve? Being taught that vulnerability doesn't mean weakness, that it takes strength to show what you feel and Ariadne was leagues stronger than he could ever attempt to be. Arthur should've known from Cobb that when you're there for someone through a hard time, an inevitable connection is created. Big or small, it's the way the world works. Either you feel more protective or sensitive to their feelings or they feel an easiness and inclination to entrust you with them. Most likely, it was a combination of all these facets that braided together this floss-like string that linked his mood to Ariadne's.  
xxxxxxx

Shannon prepared a delectable morning meal. Fresh squeezed orange juice, scrambled eggs and sausage links. Ariadne was in the process of mixing together batter for what her mom called her 'famous pancakes' when Arthur trotted down to join them. Having been raised in a household that was anal about manners and chores, Arthur asked Shannon if there was anything he could do: set the table, get napkins, pour the drinks, anything but she had refused and demanded he sit. It made him feel awkward to sit back and let the women do all the work but he obliged because his host wished it. The Point couldn't help but joke with the Architect—asking if her infamous pancakes tasted as good as her infamous deviled eggs—as he tipped his chair back on its hind legs like he did so often in the warehouse. Needless to say, Ariadne got her revenge. And by kicking one of the front legs and nearly sending him flailing to the ground; something she'd watched Eames perfect. "Yes because you weren't around to mess them up." She plopped them on his plate facetiously.

Picking up on Ariadne-isms was becoming easier (to do, not to accept). This morning numerous things jumped out at him. One, that she mixed all of her foods together. The woman put syrup on everything even the eggs and would take a bite of egg with a bite of pancake. Arthur couldn't fathom it for he controlled his portions so that nothing would ever touch and he made sure to eat in sections. The food wasn't all Arthur ate. He ate his words that mocked Ariadne's cooking. The pancakes were scrumptious, light and fluffy with white chocolate chips and a hint of cinnamon in them (that is if he identified the flavors correctly). Arthur had seven of her batch of twelve. As soon as she caught him eyeing it, Ariadne beat him to the last one. Arthur could tell she was getting full (she'd groaned that exact phrase three times) but had grabbed it just to spite him because he'd adversely commented on them before she tasted. Once he relented by praising how exceptional they were and Shannon offered him the last one, the girl felt like being evil. "Oh, did you want this?" Ariadne feigned innocence and didn't even bother to look at the pancake as she cut it. Slowly and tauntingly.

"It was offered…" He took a sip of his orange juice, "but you snatched it away before I could accept."

The Architect shrugged, took a bite, looked happily down at her plate and chimed, "Could've said _please_ and it would've been all yours...There are such things as manners. Arthur."

Getting back at him for the garlic debacle was she? He allowed himself to exchange sly simpers with her (one of her cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk). Shannon called over her shoulder while filing the dishes into the dishwasher, "There are such things as gluttony, Ariadne."  
xxxxxx

Dissolving the business was easy when said but to do it was another story. Another exhausting, tedious, boring story. Shannon had done what she could beforehand. She'd cleared Gerard's bookshelves and thrown away a bunch of code and regulation books he wouldn't need, packed the plants and globes and unnecessary decorations in boxes. (Boy, did he have a lot of those. The man liked to collect and hang up world maps. Like Ariadne enjoyed collecting everything with an Eiffel tower on it). All Gerard's supplies and leftover plans had been transferred to their house and stored in their old fitness room turned new home office. The bulk of the physical work was the complete. Arthur's tasks were notifying the partners he did business with, closing out accounts, last minute bills and helping them out with insurance and the will in case he didn't pull through. He'd had Ariadne tell Shannon before they flew in to hold off on getting a lawyer. He could pull the report and records and do research on the other party for free so they wouldn't have to pay a contingency fee should a lawyer be involved. One of Gerard's work friends who'd been unable to attend to the funeral had offered to come over and help move all of the big desks, blotters, file cabinets and sorts.

To Ariadne, the past few days were unreal and not just in the sense of grief. Mr. Robot had been acting—different. Not entirely a good different but far from a bad one. Maybe he was just acting more relaxed so he wouldn't freak her mom out? As been proved, Arthur was exceptional at playing characters to fool dreamshare virgins. It was never expected that Arthur would jump in and be exactly what she needed at the funeral. Unlike the rest of the guests, he didn't look at her with pity. He didn't plaster on a smile that pretended to have more understanding than he really had. His comfort was firm. It was structured. Reliable and sturdy. Arthur didn't strangely turn melancholy and sentimental, he didn't rub her back and make her feel weak and weepy like her relatives and old friends. There was no dwelling on it…Arthur just made it go away. He lightened things up. He was a pop of bright red in the sea of black and grey and blurred lines. (And you know it had to be depressing for Arthur to be her life of the party.) Since when did he joke? Arthur was capable of making her sides hurt? What was that? It could've been that he was being extra nice to her because of the fragile state of her psyche…or it could've been that Ariadne had begun to wear him down and they were becoming friends.

She felt closer to him. Maybe he _was_ an emotionless machine but his conscience was human. His heart—at least one tiny corner of it—was human. Being the only one she felt she could turn to and be honest about what ran through her head with, an inevitable connection had grown. One of her tendons had popped off and wanted to link with one of his. At least as good friends. Comfy companions. Ariadne left her packing station and sauntered over to him.  
xxxxxxx

Little hands landed on the chair's arms and a head appeared over his shoulder, "How's it going?" The sharp scent of green apple shampoo filled his nostrils and brought him back from his zoned out state_. _

"It's going…"Arthur turned his head, now eye level with her cheek as she concentrated on the computer screen. That bite of her lip as she focused intensely was becoming a constant in his world.

"How much more is there? Are you not even close?" Her head pivoted to return his contemplation; if they both realized how close their faces were, neither of them acknowledged it.

Arthur tilted his head to the side in form of a shrug, "I've barely made a dent."

Grimacing, the girl stood up and put her hands on her hips. Surely, there was something she could do to help. He could give her a list of things to Google or numbers to call or something but she wasn't going to bother asking again because he intently waved her off and ordered her to chill (her choice of word, not his) when she did. He tried to make the point that since they barely let him help cook and clean and (for heaven's sakes) drive…this was his thank you and he would do it himself. Just then a knock came on the office door and Shannon made haste to brush off her dusty trousers and jog to answer it. "Oh thank God," breathed the woman in relief with a hand on her chest. "Ariadne, Stanley and Nathan are here!" Ah…the famous crockpot Holts. Father and son, Arthur determined from their names. The Architect's footsteps squeak while she leaves him to greet the newcomers.

"Sorry we couldn't make the funeral. You two have been in our thoughts every day though." The older adults shared a hug while Ariadne bounded over from the desk. Stanley was a very tall man but a thick one, too. When describing who would be helping them out to Arthur earlier, Ariadne had used the example of Winnie the Pooh to put a vision of his pot belly in Arthur's mind. (It was because he drank a lot of beer in his free time. It was really only his stomach that was heavy, the rest of him was evenly and normally proportioned.) Stanley had a head full of salt of pepper and bright green eyes hidden behind glasses. "No… This isn't little Addy is it?" The older man pointed at her, bewildered, "Can't be the one that left us for Paris."

The Parisian looked down at her feet and then smiled at him, stepping in for a hug of her own, "Hey, Mr. Stan."

He let her go, holding her arms out, "Look at you…geeze. So grown up looking. Stop it." Arthur spotted a blush on the back of her neck as he walked over to introduce himself. The younger of the two men to come in (the blonde one with a soccer player's body) grinned shyly and half chuckled, "Hey Ad."

"Sup, Nate?" The Architect (and star of everyone's attention, apparently) pulled on the young blonde's neck for a hug and the guy practically buried his face in her shoulder, "Long time, no see." Being a Point Man, it was not overlooked that this Nathan looked at Ariadne like queen of the world but he had little time to let it perplex him when he heard his name in her voice, "Arthur, this is a friend of my dad and his son. Mr. Stanley and Nathan. We broke into their house to get the crockpots?" Arthur gave Stanley a firm and respectable handshake but merely nodded dutifully in Nathan's direction. Nathan forced a friendly grin and nodded back, only after straightening his posture and lifting his chin. Young men could be so arrogant Arthur thought.

…As he adjusted his watch on his wrist and pointedly eyed Nathan's casual board shorts and t shirt.

Shannon rested her hand on Arthur's shoulder and gushed over, "Arthur is an absolute saint. He came all the way down here with Ariadne to help us with the business. He's been very good to us; I don't think Ariadne could've made it through yesterday without him." Of course, Arthur shook his head and humbly tried to brush off the praise (though being secretly pleased with it and the look on Nathan's face. Sometimes inexperienced guys were _too_ competitive; it served him right.)

"Eh," Ariadne rolled her eyes and minimized his worth, "he's ok." But the Point Man was given a smile that said he was a sliver more than ok and that that fact was some sort of secret between them.  
xxxxxx

The drone of Arthur's typing and clicking grew mundane very fast and since his work area was virtually silent, his ears were vulnerable to chatter. At one-thirty, the friendly face of Ariadne appeared at his side again, "I'm grabbing some lunch, what do you want?"

The spun the chair around to catch her sitting on her dad's desk like she usually did on his, swinging her legs. "Where are you going? Sonny's?" asked the Point hopefully. He'd never eaten it until their first night there and had raved about it when he took his first bite. Usually Arthur did his utmost to abstain from messy foods, however, that pulled pork sandwich dripping with sweet hickory sauce was worth it. He would just shower after.

Ariadne snickered at him, "Popular vote was Taco Bell." Though he really didn't mind, he muttered a crap. In reply, she grabbed a sheet of plain printer paper as she hopped down and put it in front of him so he could write his order, "Don't worry, I'll get you and me some Sonny's," promised Ariadne.

"You don't have to go to two pla—" Sensing he may have made too big a deal about the choice of restaurant, he relented. Last thing, Arthur was brought up to be was rude and difficult.

Her hands found the arms of his chair again with emphasis, "What do you want, Arthur?"

Had there always been freckles on her face? They were very light and just sprinkled around her nose and under her eyes. You'd never see them from far away. Barely could at a typical distance, after all, Arthur had never picked up on them before. Who knew dots could be so charming? They certainly suited her. "Whatever you get is fine."

Ariadne rolled her eyes, crumpled the paper and traipsed towards the door. The Point was swiveling back to his chore on the computer when he heard her sing song voice call out so he turned back around, except she was addressing the other man, "Nathaniel!"

The man in question finished unscrewing a bookshelf with a power tool and complained over the grinding sound of Stanley's tool unscrewing the other side, "Why do you call me that?"

"I _like_ it," her head jutted side to side.

"It aggravates the crap out of me." The other tool powered down leaving an open space for him to comment in.

"That's why I like it…Come on, you're coming with me to pick up lunch."

"Am I now?" Nathan teased as she yanked him up by the shirt and dragged him by the wrist towards the door like a slave that she owned. "I'd rather stay and work on getting a hernia." Ariadne twisted, raised her eyebrow and let go of him. "Ok, I'll leave you here." And she skipped out the door without any more acknowledgement of his existence. Quicker than a mouse trap snapping shut, Nate snatched his jacket up and chased her into the parking lot like she obviously knew he would.

The Point's susceptible ears were now vulnerable to the other two adults who clearly thought they were quieter than they were and that if they were across the room, he would be deaf to their conversation. "Still follows her around like a puppy dog, doesn't he?" Shannon giggled, "I swear if Ariadne asked him to commit a felony he'd do it in a heartbeat."

Arthur simpered to himself. How little they knew about Ariadne and felonies…Stan laughed back, "I don't think she'd have to ask so much as barely imply and he'd be Johnny on the Spot. Say, does Ad have a boyfriend in Paris?"

"Not that I know of…"

Of course, what would a hometown be without neighborhood gossip? Ariadne never mentioned anything about Stanley having his share in here-say, though. Stan's voice grew a little quieter, "What about that guy from work?"

Arthur's ears perked up and his fingers halted typing. Shannon's volume matched that of the one before her, "I wish. I asked Ariadne about him this morning while we were making breakfast and she insisted it's only professional. She even got mad at me for assuming and demanded I not to say a word in likeness to Arthur." Arthur was…pleased to hear that. Ariadne had exactly the same view of it as he. It was possible to be friendly and to be attachment free. They could enjoy each other's company while they were around and still part ways easily without a need to keep in contact.

…yeah. That was wonderful. Ariadne didn't even so much as have a crush on him. He had to admit he suspected she might during the Fischer job but according to her recent behavior (beginning at her graduation dinner), that was a flame snuffed out months ago. Good. He needn't worry about making his disinterest in reciprocating known. Great.  
xxxxxxx

Shannon, Arthur and Ariadne were all invited to the Holts' for dinner. Stanley insisted that they had enough for everyone and that the Bourgeois' (and guest) needed an actual home-cooked meal for a change. It was scrumptious: green bean casserole, baked chicken and cornbread. Just like Thanksgiving. They ate outside on the patio near the fire-pit to simulate the feeling that they were camping. Arthur had to confess, he felt out of place as the only one there not wearing some type of plaid or denim. The topic of conversation centered on the shenanigans of Ariadne, Alex and Nathan as children with blurps from the adults' histories too. Ariadne smiled and put forth information when others couldn't remember details but Arthur could tell she didn't appreciate reminiscing about her brother so soon.

Hours passed; the Architect got quieter with each. So by the time the S'mores were uncovered and each of them (even Arthur who didn't know how this worked and had to have step by step instruction) held a stick of gooey graham sandwiches over the flames, she was silent. Nathan perceived her melancholy shortly after Arthur had and nudged his parents to stop sharing memories about carpooling and the boys' eagle scout trips. Harold, Maia and Shannon kept to generic subjects after that like sports, weather and contestants on Dancing with the Stars but Ariadne already reached the point where she was mentally fenced off from her surroundings.

With her chin rested in her hand, The Architect sat blankly staring at the fire. The Point man wondered if he should say something or if she was letting her entire S'more turn black and disintegrate for a reason. (Maybe it was a personal preference; how she enjoyed the delicacy). If the fire started spreading up the stick to her arm than he would intervene. The longer he waited for her to blink or something, the more he wished there were deviled eggs to tease her about and make her face light up. His mouth opened to ask if she was alright but closed back because anyone could look and see that she wasn't. It was dumb question. Arthur despised dumb questions. His S'more was ready to take off the heat anyway…No, you know what? That is what he came for. To watch out for her, provide assistance, etcetera. So he faced her again but—

"Ad." Nathan crouched down by her and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. Arthur saw the back of her head instead of her profile when it slowly moved to look at her childhood friend. "I'm sorry 'bout them. Thinking about when we were little helps them cope."

"I know. It's fine." The Architect slid her gaze back to the fire and finally realized her S'more was inedible. She quickly took it off the flames, waved it for the fire to extinguish and then dropped it the whole thing behind her to grab another stick.

Nathan grabbed two crackers out of the box and held them out (which she took without noticing his concerned features). "You and him were obviously closer but he felt like a brother to me too." Ariadne nodded and stuck a huge marshmallow on the edge of her new stick. He tilted his head and leaned in while she was assembling the treat. "What can I do to make you feel better?"

Stop focusing on her sadness and babying her, Arthur thought. She didn't want to be coddled, she wanted to be respected and cheered up. In the awkward silence, Arthur couldn't help but add out loud, "Steal her garlic powder." That made her smile even if it was a tiny one and his reward was a brief glance.

Confused, Nathan didn't comment. After moments of what the Point guessed was the guy's brainstorm, her friend got up and went inside. When he came back out he had two guitars and began plucking one in a melody that the Architect appeared to recognize. Arthur wasn't familiar: _Hold on to me as we go. As we roll down this unfamiliar road. And although this wave is stringing us along, just know you're not alone. Cause I'm gonna make this place your home. _Ariadne looked at him, took her marshmallow off the stick, made her S'more and watched Nathan intently as she ate it. _The trouble that might drag you down, if you get lost, you can always be found. Just know you're not alone, cause I'm gonna make this place your home. _The young man nodded at the instrument he placed by her leg. Ariadne looked at it, thinking, while he finished the blurp of the song.

"I know music is your therapy. Listening and playing always mellowed you out." He already started on another tune. She ran her hand through her hair and looked at Arthur. _Headin down south to the land of the Pines and thumbin' my way into North Carolina, starin' up the road and prayin' to God, I see headlights— _"Come on, miss Paris, be a country girl again for a few minutes—"_ Rock me mama like a wagon wheel, Rock me mama any way you feel… _Ariadne rolled her eyes and warned the Point as she picked up the guitar, "I apologize in advance that you have to witness this." The girl picked at the instrument to get a feeling for it again (she hadn't played since she left for Paris). She was able to pick up with Nathan near the end of the bridge. Her singing was so low Arthur wasn't sure if she was just mouthing the song or if sound was coming out. _Hey, mama— _Nathan stopped singing but kept playing along, "It's fixing to hit the climax, Ad, you gotta do better than that." She glared at him, "I haven't done this in like four years, give me slack, Nathaniel."

"Well let us hear you, Ariadne!"

She shook her head but she obliged. Arthur had to admit, when he could hear her, the two harmonized nicely. Nathan kept to the script. Ariadne added what she felt like. Arthur was never a fan of country music but something about the atmosphere just went with it. The fire, the food, the close feeling of nature, the carefree melody. Growing up where he did, in the circumstances his father put them in, Arthur never got to experience anything like it. Shannon, Stanley and Maia had gone inside to take dishes in and bring drinks out for everyone. When the patio door slid open, the parents wore different looks of happiness. Maia cooed, "Aw, they're playing together like old times."

Shannon requested once they stopped, "Play my favorite. The first one you learned by ear."

Ariadne grimaced and flushed, glanced at Arthur and back, "I don't wanna damage Arthur's eardrums any further."

"No, I enjoyed it." Where did that come from? Point men don't enjoy things. Why would you have said that? Well, Arthur had. It was quaint. Again, he'd never done this type of thing before (his parents weren't outdoorsy people. Vacations and family weekends for him were reading alone in hotel rooms in various cities his father had to go on business). And while Ariadne was no Celine Dion or anything, she had a pretty voice. She carried the tune well. He didn't mind either way but there was no burning need to make her stop like when Eames would bellow a melody. With a sigh (and her mother's giddy clap while the other adults sat back around the fire) she lifted the guitar back into playing position. Nathan grinned slyly at her, "Now, I don't know all the words to this one…so…" She gave him a feigned look of resent with her eyes and began to play.

Arthur recognized it right away. It was an eighties ballad. He probably wasn't more than four when the song came out. But he remembered hearing it play in the car in his childhood, his mother singing it. It was a semi-classic, most people knew it. It filtered through his elementary years and he thought he remembered it playing at his first middle school dance. _Close your eyes, give me your hand, darling. Do you feel my heart beating? Do you understand? Do you feel the same? Or am I only dreaming…_She shot a secretive and humorous look at Arthur at the hint of their work. Hearing it acoustically was an entirely different experience. As was hearing it sweetly lulled out instead of a brassy belt with a chorus of 'oohs' in the background. It was more raw; the lyrics sounded more genuine. _Is this burning an eternal flame? Say my name and sun shines through the rain. A whole life, so lonely, you come and ease the pain. I don't wanna lose this feeling. Oh… _

There was that word he contemplated earlier that weekend when she was sitting by herself on their dock. 'Lonely'. It was a troubling line of lyrics. Lonely didn't hurt. How could someone ease the pain of something that didn't hurt? The notion was impossible. For someone that never needed or desired, much less experienced companionship…it made the intent of the song seem far-fetched. It resonated with Ariadne though.

xxxxxx

They got back late that night. The only saving grace in having to turn around and hop on a plane in six hours was that they could sleep all the way back to Los Angeles if they required it. "So now that we're away from the assuming eyes of your mother…" Once settled into their first class seats with seatbelts properly fastened and carry-on items stowed away, he retrieved a small bag from his briefcase and placed it in her lap.

"What's this?" Ariadne stared with a peculiar expression across her visage. Part of the peculiar-ness could've been because she was dog tired and fixing to fall asleep then and there. The Architect already snuck a good hour of sleep in while waiting to board the plane. It took all she could do to let Arthur drag her through the ticket line and onto the aircraft.

"Open it and see."

"Arthur…are you just hell bent on getting even or what? You've more than paid me back for that breakfast, trust me—and you gave more than you took at my mom's house. You're going to drive me insane if you do this every time I'm nice to you. " She punctuated with a less than annoyed and more than fatigued yawn.

After sliding his briefcase back under the seat in front of him and clasping his hands together he reprimanded, "A 'wow, thank you for being so thoughtful, Arthur' would suffice. There are such things as manners, Ariadne." He should stop bringing that up. Inside jokes are not practical in this line of work.No matter how clever.

"Wow." She plastered on a fake grin and plopped the bag back into his lap, "Thank you for being so thoughtful, Arthur."

"I can't return it; we're already on the plane. You might as well give in and open it." She crossed her arms over her stomach and pursed her lips. Stubborn. So stubborn, that girl. Was she sitting on her hands? How old was she again? Arthur coaxed further with a bored look on his face, "You'll only be wasting my money if you offensively deny my gift now."

The Architect sat up, scanned the rest of the cabin and then pointed to the flight attendant, "Give it to her."

He squinted and shook his head, "I don't think you'd be happy once she opened it. Besides I bought it with you in mind. Stop being argumentative and ungracious." They hadn't even been out of her hometown for more than an hour and he reverted back to Mr. prim and proper, too serious and _stubborn_ for his own good. Ariadne didn't like this sudden change back to himself already.

"Stop being nice to me." The woman leaned away from him and into the small round window. She didn't care if she was the only one who opened the shades to observe the sunless sky. "You're weirding me out. Where is pompous 'buying things is unprofessional' Arthur?"

Arthur didn't roll his eyes exactly. He did look out the corner of his eye and irritatedly pulled the object out of the bag and dangled it in front of her face. She may have gasped…and it may have been unattractive… "You like it, don't you?" droned Arthur, a look of 'I told you' already pulling at his features.

Ariadne took it from him but handled the delicate fabric carefully. It was turquoise, green and purple in a scattered yet subtle floral print. "I…yeah…I—it's gorgeous, Arthur. Absolutely—when did you even get this?"

"When my offer to buy you the dress was turned down. I didn't intend to but I was waiting for you to finish up and the store was just across the street. I saw it in the window and it looked like you—something you'd pick." Arthur didn't listen to the voice in his head that said he shouldn't have been able to determine what she'd favor. What her style would lean towards.

"I would say that I wished you didn't but I'd be lying through my teeth." She folded it nicely and placed it in her carry on, "Thank you…"

"Mon plaisir. I wanted to make up for my lack of usefulness this weekend." One of his legs propped up on his other and he checked his wrist for the time. The plane was four minutes behind schedule and while that was perfectly typical it bothered him.

"Did you just say _lack_ of usefulness?" Her dubious face gaped at him, "We couldn't have even attempted to dissolve dad's business and file for retirement without you."

Arthur waved it off literally in dismissiveness, "I could've talked you through it over the phone…Eames would've made you laugh, Cobb would've been more sympathetic. _Anyone_ would've been more enjoyable."

He took it for a guilty concurrence when she scrunched her face and shrugged. "Well…I think you're exactly the kind of person I needed with me this weekend. I'm glad I asked you." It felt personal. Overtly genuine for Arthur's taste. He took too much of a liking to her statement. The Point Man avoided looking at her and instead examined the safety brochure in the seat pocket. "You're not just saying that because of the scarf, are you?"

Ariadne's lips pursed and she looked to the sky in a mockery of deep thought, "Maybe thirty three percent because of the scarf…"

Unfortunately, he glanced over at her in time to see her kittenish smile break out. And he'd be damned if he didn't grin right back.

Xxxxxxx

Little seeds are being planted, eh? What's something you'd like to see happen? I already have an idea for next chapter but suggestions are always fun to include if they trigger an idea in me. Also, is it progressing realistically enough for you guys? Reviews make updates come faster cause they get us writers excited to work on it.

Chapter Song: So Nice, So Smart by Kimya Dawson.


	6. Poker Face

Thank you reviewers_! Lauraa-x:_ You're like my old faithful, aren't you? Lol. Some of your suggestions are definitely coming. Not so much in this chapter though. The next one has one particular hilarious moment I'm excited about. I'm enjoying this simmer though. _numbah435spiritsong_: warming up indeed. And yes, yes, he does. Actually Arthur probably realizes it and that's why he's so abstinent. _Lazarus76: _Thanks friend =).

Thank you story followers: _avengersfangirl9517 _and _Kimipeli  
_Thank ya, thank ya's to story favorites: _avengersfangirl9517 _and _Ocean's Eyes._

Whenever you have the time or feel like it, I'd love to hear why you followed or favorited so I can try to keep doing whatever I did right.

**Chapter 6: Poker Face**

Arthur was merely protective of her because he knew how affected she was by the weekend and how she desperately shoved her fragility down under coy smiles and crude jokes with the Forger. (Must his provocative humor be contagious?) Eames would likely say something insensitive and cause her to think of her dad or her brother. Any day now. Arthur was sure he'd see waterworks and have to pull her into a clutch again. (Embrace sounded too comfy of a word. Like sentiments were attached to the letters in it.)That is the _only _reason he insisted on chaperoning their forging sessions.

They stood in the middle of a study. Rich mahogany woods shaped into desks and doorframes and bookshelves. The smell was of musky cologne and a bite of smoke. The room was open yet cozy, very much like Miles' broom closet of an office back at the University. The Englishman and the Parisian stood on the opposite of the room from him by the mirror over the fireplace. Arthur was in the process of collecting dust with his index as it ran across the one of the ceiling to floor shelves when he heard Ariadne mutter, "Ok, here it goes." In front of his eyes (and with step by step instructions from Eames) she stretched and morphed into Arthur's likeness. It was like the Point Man was looking in the mirror or having an out of body experience.

"Oh wow…" The sound that came from fake Arthur made the real one cover his mouth and think on whether he'd commented out loud. It was exceptional…the fact that Ariadne could forge so well she made the original question his existence.

Cloned Arthur looked down at his (her) feet, "So _this_ is what it feels like to be tall." The only thing that gave Arthur brief solace was the uncharacteristic giggle that came from his doppelganger's body as he/she/it jumped up and down a few times (admiring the height she could achieve) and then jogging over to the doorway clumsily, "Geeze, how do you maneuver with these long, gangly legs?" and easily reaching up to touch the top of the frame.

"You like it?" Eames joked.

"Damn, it's nice." He (she) nodded.

After a chuckle, Eames surveyed and judged her work with settled eyes and chin in his hand. "It's pretty solid. You have his stance down pat." He motioned for her to walk towards him and grinned. The figure abandoned its inept way of moving from the seconds before and straightened. A breath of poise, arrogance and intimidation filtered into the body as it began to march towards Eames. It effortlessly used long strides, arms in line and time with legs. Shoulders down, nose up, eyes firmly fixed ahead. "And his walk…that's perfect." Ariadne (who looked like Arthur) halted in front of Eames and gave him a bored and condescending, "Of course it is. I pay attention to the specificity of things, Mr. Eames."

Then fake Arthur smirked back at real Arthur and the Point Man caught a glitch in her illusion. His dark brown eyes turned into hers long enough to glimmer that peculiar way that belonged to her alone. Arthur slipped her a thumbs up. Any jab aimed at Eames was one to be encouraged.

Eames chided, "You watch him a lot, don't you?"

The Point Doppelganger shot a poisonous look back at Brit which egged him to tease more, "Oooh you have his unbecoming glare too. What does his post-coital face look like?"

The figure blushed red all over and all of a sudden (if the original's face looked like he felt, he was sure they were mirror images in that moment.) Ariadne looked like herself again. The joker got punched hard on the shoulder, "You ruin everything."

Indeed he did. It was just like that brute to disintegrate all clean, professional and acceptable fun by bringing that kind of talk into the mix. By then, Ariadne and Arthur should have been used to the Forger's never-ending prodding, insinuating and humiliating. The more uncomfortable Eames could make them, the happier a man he was. The brighter his day. If he could get Arthur riled enough to threaten his life and Ariadne embarrassed enough to pull her hoodie over her face and ignore the Point for a couple hours than he got a mighty fine sleep that night. Eames was convinced of (absolutely, positively committed to) his theory that Arthur and Ariadne gave into the throes of inescapable, uncontrollable passion every minute the Forger wasn't present. He even set up a camera in the alleyway to catch them in the act.

See, Ariadne often took her afternoon snack (leftover lunch, granola bar, what have you) into the alley outside the warehouse. She needed to get out of the building every once and a while to experience a change in scenery or breathe fresh air. Since the trip to her hometown, sometimes (more often than not) Arthur followed her. He wanted to check and make sure the girl was alright. Obviously, working helped keep her mind off things but if she needed to leave for the day or call her family, he wanted to make sure she did what was best for her and not suck it up for the Team. Usually, Ariadne was fine and he merely exchanged a few words before giving her time to herself but there was always that slim chance she was on the verge of another wave of grief. And as the reluctant companion he was, Arthur felt the need to aid her in feeling better if it was needed.

Anyways, Eames shrugged self-satisfied and then urged, "Try Madison Summerford now. I know we've only had a picture to look at thus far so just focus on her appearance."

The Architect's body shrunk to the size of a child whose head came to Eames' elbow. Soft chestnut curls coiled up into flaming red pigtails of ringlets and her clothes morphed into a yellow romper and big pink rain boots. "Hi there, my name's Maddy. Would you buy some lemonade?" squeaked the child missing two front teeth.

Arthur quipped from his spot, "Better quit while you're still the best, Mr. Eames."  
xxxxxxx

Maybe it was because he hadn't acted this way towards a team member since Mal and he missed it? His instinctual inclination to look after his teammate's wellbeing crept up more often than necessary. Sure, he could argue that he'd looked after Cobb for years and make him feel better. But Dominic was his best friend and Arthur was all he had left in the world while he was separated from his children. He had to watch out for the Extractor. Arthur didn't _have _to watch out for the Architect. It was a favor she'd never ask for but he agreed to follow through with anyway. It just felt wrong to be concerned about how Ariadne faired after losing family. Arthur was raised to be polite and thoughtful, was he not? Especially to persons of the fairer gender. It was just like telling her she was ok after she woke from her first dream-death. It was far less controversial than kissing her to ease her mind about projections. These concerns were things Arthur would've allowed himself during the Fischer Job. The gestures meant nothing then. These gestures meant noth—little now. Very little.

If Ariadne appeared to require rest, Arthur told her to go home:

Ariadne's elbows rested on the table and her palms dug into her eyes. As the Point walked by on his way from Yusuf's station, he stopped and surveyed her. Waited to see if she was napping or thinking or had a headache or artist's block. Normally, the girl sensed his gaze whenever he fixed it on her but a minute in, she was either ignoring him or catching some shut eye. Resting his hand on the edge of her desk, he cleared his throat. Immediately she jerked and looked up at him. "I wasn't asleep, I swear." Ariadne even held her hand up like she was using scout's honor.

The Point blinked in return, "Go back to the hotel. Yusuf's fixing to head out; catch a ride with him."

Ariadne looked at Yusuf like he was an oasis in the middle of the Sahara but then disdainfully back at her work before her, "The model isn't finished. You wanted to run the first draft of your level in the morning. I promised you I'd finish before I left."

Arthur inspected her eyes undetected. They were droopy and red and blinking profusely. It was no headache, the young woman was exhausted. Probably had been up grief-stricken the past few nights and tried to make it go away by overwhelming herself with sketches and foam board. "I can switch my afternoon and morning schedule. It's not a problem."

Ariadne shook her head and picked up her cutter, "No, that's not fair to you. You hate last minute agenda changes."

The Point Man pushed her working hand down to the table then carefully extracted the exacto-knife from her hold, "As long as it' s done some time tomorrow, running it first thing is not my concern. Your functionality is."

Yusuf began to pack up his things and turn the lights around his worktable off. Arthur plucked the Architect's bag from the back of her chair and started putting her things in it. He was a man of details, of course he knew what items stayed at the warehouse and which she carried back in forth. In went her trusty pencil case, her sketchbook, her phone and charger, the granola bar she never ate (but made her feel better by walking in and out with it like she would eventually), her chapstick, her red pen and her blue and yellow highlighters. He watched the Chemist as he did so as if in a race with him for who would finish first (instead of watching the yawning but befuddled girl sitting before him). "Go, Ariadne." The messenger bag was held out for her to take and her jacket placed over her shoulder. Who the hell was she talking to? Ariadne furrowed her brows while he called out, "Yusuf, wait up. Ariadne's going to share the cab."  
xxxxxxx

If Arthur noticed she didn't join the team for a meal, part of his was proffered:

"Did you not order anything?" Arthur posed in askance in front of her desk. The question was for conversation starting purposes. The answer was plain from observing her.

Ariadne shrugged, "I was busy."

While there was nothing particularly comical about the situation, Arthur cracked a smile, "Oh no, you're turning into me." The falter in his indefinable visage was worth it when the Architect (still focused down on her work) upturned her lips.

"Here." Half of a roast beef sandwich and a handful of curly fries miraculously appeared beside her elbow. Arthur felt he needed to elaborate, "I tore it in half. I haven't eaten off of it." She truly hadn't been hungry all day which is why she winced at the food and its smells.

The Point commented, "I agree it's no Sonny's barbeque but its sustenance. At least eat a few fries, please." After being given a 'you better' look, she shoved some fries into her mouth with a 'happy, now?' look of her own.  
xxxxxxx

Strangely, Arthur even put effort into upbuilding her:

The team perused about an empty beach house set on a hill in the West Coast. Out the large windows, clear blue waves could be both seen and heard. White curtains billowed in the wind the open French doors ushered in. Ariadne had been glued to Dom, hanging on his every statement and examining stare of the dreamscape. Once the group came full circle and ended up back in the living area (All white furniture with pops of peach just like the pictures), The Extractor did a final once over and nodded. "We can work with this. Good job, Ariadne." The Parisian didn't thank him. She didn't even smile. Her gaze dropped from the icy blue eyes to the fur rug. Arthur wondered if anyone else noticed the bright bleach white paint in the room fade minutely to a dulled greyish white.

Cobb certainly didn't, "Are there any extra features you added for personal use Yusuf?"

The Chemist adjusted his glasses then clasped his hands behind his back as he began to lead Dom and Eames, "Yes, I added a duct system like Eames had for the Fischer job; the entrance is in the half-bath."

A grating, discordant sound echoed through the living area. It was Ariadne. On the piano bench. Her forehead pressed into black and white keys of a grandeur, shiny, white piano. Arthur felt at ease to josh with the others absent, "Not to be rude but you are scores better on the guitar than you are on the piano." The Architect lifted her head off of it, bemused. He pocketed his hands and gave her a look that said she was acting too much like a spoiled child. "What is it, Architect?"

Sulkily, the girl pointedly looked over the room, "It sucks." Ariadne was never one to fish for compliments so that wasn't what she was doing. Though going about it unnecessarily sullen, there was honest criticism of her work.

Arthur fixed her with a glare, "It does not."

"Cobb thinks so," chided the woman.

Why did the Extractor's opinion matter so much? It if got the job done, it got the job done. Impressing the boss wasn't part of the protocol as long as the scape was executed well and served its purpose. That's what he meant when he said, "Who cares what Cobb thinks?"

Ariadne sighed, "Says the man who cares about nothing."

He was making an attempt at doling out encouragement, the least she could do was be cooperative and get encouraged…Arthur huffed, "It will do."

Standing from the bench and crossing the room to dramatically plop on the couch, the Parisian complained, " _'It will do,'_ those words corrode my soul."

Ok, now Arthur was miffed. He'd presented at least three semi-uplifting points and she was stubbornly still downtrodden. What was wrong with her? "Stop being theatrical. No, it is not your personal best but nor is it the worst the dream world has seen. Far from it."

Ariadne sat up, "I can do better though. My mind just won't collaborate with me."

Arthur carefully sat in the wingback chair opposite her, "Because your reality has been recently turned upside down. Truthfully, this house is amazing for all you've got going on up there."

The Architect pursed her lips and scrutinized her surroundings again. Lord, she was so difficult to be nice to. Arthur noticed the color of the walls brighten again though.  
xxxxxxx

And when all was said and done…Arthur guaranteed that if she ever needed anything, his services were available:

Ariadne blinked away her grogginess by idly watching Eames—the man sprawled out on the Summerfords' couch—while he stretched and yawned like a lion. A baby lion because there was nothing majestic about the way he rolled around smacked his mouth. When he was good and ready he ruffled his hair and lazily pulled the lead from his wrist. A quick glance at Yusuf propped against the bottom of the couch informed her that he'd woken up earlier than the Forger; he was in the middle of coiling up his tubing. Cobb was behind her somewhere speaking with Mrs. Summerford and her brother in law, Mr. Edwards (both of them clients) about the general result of the job, giving them detailed instructions on how to proceed with the information. Ariadne rubbed the corners of her eyes and waited for Eames to regard her about her performance. Not that she normally cared about praise, in fact she hated it, but she was proud of what he taught her and hoped he was too. Turned out Ariadne was as exceptional at forging as she was at architecture.

Oh. There was that commendation she was waiting for. The Englishman said that out loud. He also smiled at her and announced that she would put him out of work and he'd be forced to sabotage her which she took in kind. She softly smiled back and grasped for her IV but accidentally touched the hand that made it there before her instead. Arthur was at her side, skillfully removing the needle and pressing an alcohol pad to the puncture, "Were you going to remain connected all day."

The Parisian took over the application of pressure on the small nick and observed while he stuck her cord into the machine with the others and mechanically reset the PASIV to its prior, unused state. The next time/last time they talked was in the back of the taxi van the Summerfords' had hired to take them to the airport. Cobb lived in California so he drove home and Eames (thankfully) was staying another two days to visit an old friend (probably a call girl he knew) so it was just Yusuf, Ariadne and Arthur for the ride. Besides being aloof to sociality, the Chemist also called shotgun and was in the middle of a heated conversation about igneous rocks with the cabbie. Ariadne called his attention away from the smoky, industrial scenery, "Hey, since we're not allowed to know each other when we get out of the cab…thank you for everything. From the bottom of my heart. And my mom's."

People rarely thanked Arthur for the things he did. The exception as always were the Cobbs and Miles' but they weren't people, they were family. No one outside of that small circle took his favors as privileges. Something earned, not something that came with the package. No other team member had shown this volume of gratitude (continuous and heartfelt). Especially despite his coldness. The fact that it warmed his coldness, made him slightly uncomfortable so he shifted in his seat and stared ahead at the back of the driver's seat, "Don't mention it."

"Really though. You've been very…" What words effectively described his attitude towards her during the job? What words wouldn't alienate him with their schmaltziness and cause him to jump out the window just to avoid seeming concerned about her? "Accommodating and…" Thank God his eyes had a death grip on the driver's head and not on her chewing her lip and wincing. Ariadne started to say 'thoughtful' but that would imply he _thought _about her and he sure as hell didn't want it believed she was ever on his mind. She also began to use chivalrous but he might make the connection to opening doors and pulling out chairs and courting and…while polite, he definitely would be offended to be termed a knight in shining armor (Ariadne wouldn't call him one, either, honestly) even if that wasn't the intention in her statement. Finally, the woman settled on "helpful. I've appreciated it."

Luckily, her choice in words and delivery (no more talks of bottoms of hearts or sincerity and an office like tone) eased him enough to look back at her, "I've slipped my numbers into the front pocket of your carry on in case there is a need to contact me."

"Number-_s?_" The Architect put stress on that 's'. Questioning but not outright questioning the plurality.

"I have several disposables, temporaries and carriers that I switch out. I'm very hard to get a hold of and wanted to make sure you could reach me if you ever needed something—" He was quick to elaborate and give examples of proper reasons, "If anything comes up about your father's business or if your mother needs any more help with the insurance. If you want me to background check a potential client or workmate…feel free to ask. I'd be happy to offer assistance." Arthur could've forgone the 'happy' in that statement but what the heck? They'd just completed a successful job and he was on his way to another well-paying one. He was feeling crazy for a moment.

The Architect checked her backpack to confirm she'd gotten the different business cards and contact information. "Thank you. I'll keep that mind." Everything she said (and the way she forced herself to say it) sounded like those electronic people on cell phones or GPS. Being around him was exhausting. The vehicle pulled into the large loop that is LAX and screeched into place by the curb. "So could I consider us…_friends,_ now?"

Either he didn't hear her or he didn't care to hurt her feelings with his negative answer. Arthur hastily slid out of the car and opened the trunk to retrieve his luggage. Ariadne swallowed while Yusuf paid the driver the money they each divvied up and contributed and the two men hopped out to help the Point. While there was no doubt that Arthur would never even consider a relationship that wasn't teacher/student or workerbee/slightly more responsibly weighted worker bee…Ariadne, for one moment, allowed herself to hope that his _thoughtfulness _(she could use the word where he couldn't hear it) had been slightly more than desperation to make certain the job went smoothly. For a tiny sliver of time, she dared to believe that Arthur genuinely liked her as a person and saw her as more than a tool to get his mission accomplished. More than someone he forced himself to see every day because of his profession.

Rolling her eyes at her own stupidity and optimism, her car door opened just before she pulled the handle back. Arthur's palm was held out to help her down, "I wouldn't be opposed to it." Ariadne raised her eyebrows at him and took his assistance. After she hopped out and landed on the sidewalk, he added, "Calling each other friends. The idea doesn't offend me. "

The Point Man assumed she was headed back to Paris but was cheated out of the chance to ask. By the time she'd gotten through security, she was only afforded ten minutes before her plane left. The most he and Yusuf had gotten after they entered the airport was a farewell wave. Arthur briefly wondered why it upset him, that he hadn't said the word goodbye. It was reasonable that after all he'd been through with her this go around that it was a pity to part and not know if or when he'd see her again. He did ponder the drips of regret he felt from not telling her he would like to work together again soon. That he hoped their paths crossed once more during her inevitably long dreamshare career. But after two drinks and an eight hour plane ride he chalked it up to disappointment that he hadn't had sushi at his favorite spot while he was in town and left it at that. Honestly, that's how it should've been.

Xxxxxx

_**Six months later.**_

Arthur had been staying in the Cobb household for a good week. Since he wasn't keen on visiting his father since his mother's death, The Point Man visited his colleague and his children when there was a slump in jobs and he was tail-less. Philippa's ninth birthday was the next weekend and Dom had extended his invitation to stay longer. "All of Pippa's friends have either gone off to Disney for Spring Break or to visit relatives. Only two other little girls responded to the party invitation so I talked her into cancelling it and having a special day with family…I think she'd really love it if you were here for it." The kids were upstairs asleep. Cobb liked to have them tucked into bed by eight thirty on school nights. He would be lenient enough in the following week with Spring Break and his little girl's special day and all forthcoming. He was making he and Arthur some coffee.

"I don't necessarily have a reason to leave." Arthur pointed out (throwing a cursory glance at the calendar on the fridge first) as the blonde pressed the button on the coffee machine. "But poor Philippa…it seems like a bummer of a birthday."

Dom laughed, "You would think but she's excited." He made to grab for two mugs but Arthur was closer and knew where they were kept so he pulled them out instead. "And she'll be ecstatic once she finds out what's coming."

"Oh?" Arthur placed the mugs carefully on the counter. His interest piqued.

"Well she wants to have a day full of Pretty and the or—oh!" The father snapped and corrected himself, "_Beauty_ and the Beast. The touring cast is in town so I bought a bunch of tickets to the show. Miles and Penelope are coming in and…" a wide mischievous grin spread over his face, "bringing a special guest." Arthur questioned with a raise of his eyebrows so Cobb clarified but made sure to whisper just to make sure the little girl wouldn't somehow hear, "We're flying Ariadne in to surprise her…she's going to flip."

Arthur's head jutted back. Surprised, he tilted it, "Ariadne and Pippa are that close?" The Point had noticed the kids took a liking to her at the graduation dinner and Cobb had mentioned how they both kept the copies of the picture she sent with the invitation but he'd blown it off as children being children. He also chose to center his swirling thoughts on the inspection of her relationship with the kids and not why he felt strangely and unreasonably eager to be in her company again. A sarcasm like hers hadn't graced him in a while. He was ready to laugh.

"Very. The kids idolize her. She came with Miles for Thanksgiving the Fall before graduation and won their little hearts over in a week. She skypes them on weekends and sends them things in the mail." Wow, that was interesting. Ariadne and the Cobbs were in touch weekly. That was more than Arthur was in touch with them. How long had that been going on? Since Inception? Cobb pulled the creamer out of the fridge, "It's nice for Philippa to have a young, respectable female figure to look up to."

Arthur nodded. Ariadne was definitely young. She was certainly respectable. She was most definitely about to live in the same house space as him again in as little as three days. It was terrifying. He'd learned too much about her when he had to practically live with her in her parent's house. How much would he learn this time? How would that affect him? Should he have taken that large step and agreed to label them as friends? Dom's words tried to cut through the haze of questions.

"We all can't wait to see the look on her face. Which is why if you're still here it would be great if you could pick them up from the airport while the kids and I are at James' soccer practice this Thursday."

"Yeah, I'd be happy to." He would actually. He would like to pick them up. He would like to be one of the first to see her again. He would like to ask her how she's been…she never did call for anything. She must've been perfectly fine. If she hadn't been working in dreamshare, what had she been doing? He would like to know. Would she be happy to see _him _again? He would like her to be. There he goes with that 'happy' word. That's an extraneous word…no one really needs to be happy, do they?

Xxxxxxx

Ya'll little kids are so truthful and embarrassing when they don't mean to be. I love the kids in the next chapter. And dude…they're officially friends now. Who's excited about Pippa's birthday! Meeeee and Ari.

**Vote on A/A Quality Time:** Ariadne obviously needs to handle the princess stuff for Pip's party. Should she:  
**A)** Give Cobb and Arthur a list and send them out to get the supplies. The Pro for this one is when they come back, she's in the pool with the kids. And whoa that's a lot of skin for Arthur to see.  
**B) **Cobb asks Ariadne to help him shop and she drags Arthur along. Cue Arthur begrudgingly letting her put crowns on his head and helping pick out cake and being excitedly pulled down aisles and C/A/A bff laughter.

**Chapter Song: **Poker Face by Lady Gaga. Duh. 


	7. High Times

Thank you soooo much reviewers! You're the BEST. _Guest: _noted! _Guest (2?): _Why thanks =) They're my favorite too. Not just for Inception but also overall. _Lauraa-x: _Yeah lord knows Arthur needs more nice and normal. Awkward is sort of Art and Ari's signature I think ahahahah. And I know…I would be confused if I were her. Pip will be ok, Ari's gonna make up for all of it. _Pien1993: _Thanks! And noted. _numbah435spiritsong: _woot! Love makin readers laugh. And okie doke. _anime09: _Yayayay. You don't know how happy your review made me. I'm so ecstatic that you like his character development. And wow, I'm honored that you favorited both the story and I =). Sincerest thank you's!

Thanks _marcela. _for favoriting and following the story.  
Gratitude pie to: _Cadence-of-Silence _for following With You!

**VOTING RESULTS: **A won! By one vote. Lol. But I hope you B-er's will enjoy what I did to make up for it.

**Chapter 6: High Times**

It was no surprise that Arthur arrived at the airport early; exactly ten minutes before their aircraft was even scheduled to touch ground. It turned into twenty minutes when the group of Parisians' plane landed late. Miles sent him a quick 'here' text as soon as phones were allowed to be powered back on so his eyes were ready and scouring through the waves of passengers coming out of commons.

"Arthur." Miles waved him over to luggage carousel three and gave him a firm handshake and pleasant smile. To which Arthur returned, "Stephen. It's nice to see you again."

"You too." The ever lovely Penelope (there was so much of Mal that came from her) gave the Point a light hug after Stephen took her bag from her. Arthur scanned the area for the short brunette he was sure was on the same plane and finally noticed Ariadne was behind Miles struggling to lift her suitcase from the carousel. He reached around her to haul it off and contended to take it to the car for her. The four fell into step with each other, following Arthur out into the clogged roadways in front of LAX. He comfortably walked amidst the hustle and bustle and honking to lead them to the rental he parked in the garage. Arthur looked to Ariadne as they stepped into the elevator, halfway expecting a greeting. What he remembered of her, she was quite the chatterbox and it was unsettling for her not to chime into the light, small talk Miles and Penelope were engaging the Point in. Arthur caught her eyes giving him a once over. The Architect lifted her eyebrows, "Wow. This is a surprise…" In true Ariadne form she stretched to take the suitcase back but Arthur changed hands.

"Did Cobb not inform you that I was picking you up? Miles knew." Dom said he had called the Miles' on Tuesday and told them the plan. Maybe he hadn't told the Architect who was the one coming to retrieve them.

"Well yeah but…" Well what was the surprise, then? Certainly not him lugging her suitcase for her. Arthur's chivalry was common. "…You're wearing khakis…" She bit back a saccharine grin. And he was. Arthur was in a nice pair of khaki pants, a button up shirt rolled to his elbows. It was hot in LA, he couldn't afford large stuffy jackets, a vest, tie and dark colors. It looked better to be nicely dressed down than to be in a suit and sweat everywhere. Besides, he considered this a vacation. There was still gel in his hair but not the amount that normally made it rock hard.

After the elevator doors opened and they started their trek across the fourth level, it was Arthur's turn to give her an exaggerated look from head to toe. He could've guessed she'd be in her signature skinnies, scarf and converses. She also donned a camisole, open denim shirt and a messy ponytail. "Is there a dress code for the airport? Because-"

"No," sneered the girl, "And I look spectacular for a fourteen hour plane ride, thank you." After a proud, joking pop of her collar she added, "You're just dressed uncharacteristically casual. It makes me uncomfortable." They reached soon enough and he popped open the trunk to help Miles with his and Penelope's suitcase, still listening to her teasing. "Like I'm starting to question whether you're the real Arthur."

Miles gave her a warning look. Nothing too stern but he knew the young man better and for longer. Arthur didn't like mocking. It got him flustered. He regarded her like a teacher (how fitting) suggesting the outgoing child jumping around and doing cartwheels quit making fun of the kid huddled with a book in the corner.

As Arthur reached down for her suitcase, he eyed her and reasoned, "They're Ralph Lauren if that makes you feel better."

The girl couldn't help but notice his forearms flexing when he picked the bag up. Had she ever seen his arms? Rarely, she supposed. He'd rolled up his sleeves before. She must have; she just never paid attention to the shape. Or the strength. Or those two veins near his muscle that popped to the surface and made her swallow hard. "Oh! Much better," came her relieved and dramatic sigh. Ariadne was nothing if not good at smoothing over random shots of attraction. She leaned against the back door of the car while he maneuvered things to fit in the trunk, watching him still but making sure to ignore those arms. "Leave it _you _to have designer khakis…"

In the background, Penelope told Miles she'd like to sit in the back with Ariadne and he opened the door to let her in. Un-amused, Arthur closed the trunk and gave her an expectant look. Perhaps waiting for the next jab. Miles looked on, one foot inside the passenger's area and the other standing and watching over the opened door. Penelope waved at the older man to sit and leave them be but he'd been around Arthur and Eames once or twice to know that while tactfully until pushed too far, Arthur didn't take to tongue-in-cheek very lightly. He was afraid they'd start a row before they even go to the house and he didn't want Ariadne to have to suffer the brunt of Arthur's temper.

Instead of pushing him further, The Architect blinked at the Point and dropped her satire in favor of a faraway smile. "Hi Arthur."

"Hello Ariadne." And to the Professor's utter astonishment, The Point smirked.  
xxxxxxx

The front door swung open and James came scurrying in with Philippa skipping behind and Cobb yelling for him to take off his cleats. "Hey Uncle Arthur!" The child plopped into his dad's leather recliner and obediently removed his dirty shoes. His hair was all blown around and greasy from his exertion but he wore the dirt on his face as proud as he wore his winning smile. While it was cute, Arthur was concerned about him messing up the furniture.

"How was soccer, James?" The Uncle stood with his hands in his pockets and wondered when the boy would notice the elderly couple behind him on the couch. "Good I guess," wrinkled the boys nose. His socks were ripped off and tossed behind him into the hallway. That was going to drive Uncle Arthur insane.

Philippa, who'd twirled in and sat her homework folder on the coffee table, halted. Her mouth dropped open to the sound of the front door shutting. James looked up startled when she squealed.

"Bonjour munchkins." The two tackled Professor and Mrs. Miles and peppered them with kisses all over their faces. Humming while pressing his cheek against his grandmother's, James asked incredulously how they got there. Penelope smoothed his hair back and tugged at Philippa's sleeve, "Uncle Arthur picked us up from the airport while you were at school."

It was then that Dom (picking up and folding James' socks, Thank God) looked to the darkened kitchen and smiled at something hidden in there. Pulling out his camera phone, he gave Arthur a nod. The Point pulled a letter out of his pocket dutifully, "Philippa, something came in for your birthday today."

The little girl slid off of Miles (James took advantage and occupied the entirety of both grandparent's laps) and studied the address with squinted eyes. When she saw the familiar word 'Arondissement' in the sender's address and the Eiffel Tower on the stamp in the corner, she beamed at the Extractor, "It's from Ari, Dad!"

"Really? Wow." He feigned. James sat up noticeably straighter like he was trying to read the letter from his spot (though he couldn't read that well). All the adults shared eager and knowing glances with each other.

The envelope ripped open and the yellow lined paper was hastily and excitedly unfolded. Out loud, the Philippa read the note: _"Hey you, I heard you were having a Beauty and the Beast birthday. That's my favorite princess too so I had to come." _The little girl tilted her head and hesitated while Ariadne crept out of the kitchen adeptly and posed silently behind the couch,_ "Turn around—?" _Confused, the child rotated her head and then screamed at the top of her lungs in delight, "Ariadne!" James' shocked face turned around and his knees dug into the Miles' leg in the process of crawling over both of his grandparents.

Cobb didn't scold his daughter for standing on the couch (Arthur would've. The cushions were too soft, she might break an ankle or something) to throw her arms around Ariadne's neck, "You came for my birthday?! You really came?!"

"Of course I did!" Ariadne replied back with as much enthusiasm as the children. Cobb and the Miles' both smiled proudly (their mission was a success) as James hopped off and ran around to attach himself to the Architect's leg with a hug. "I had to make sure the boys did all the princess stuff right."

Philippa pulled back and sighed like she hadn't thought about that but was glad someone had, "Thank goodness." She bounced off the sofa and the off the walls around the living room, "This is going to be the best birthday ever! Who needs Grace and Bailey and Olivia when I have Ariadne!"

Everyone was laughing and grinning and the room was filled with such overwhelming cheer, Arthur couldn't help but smile too. Ariadne was a person talented at brightening everyone's day.  
xxxxxx

It was a blessing having Ariadne there for this. Yes, Miles had a daughter but he was no better at princess parties for it. Penelope would be a big help but it'd been a while since she'd done something like that too. In the years Cobb was gone after Mal died, she did the children's birthdays at home or chuck e' cheese. Something simple. And well Cobb had no clue. He called it Pretty and the Monster for heaven sakes. Ariadne had several bright ideas in that head of hers…it was always a party when she came to visit. She found neat crafts and games to occupy the children with like painting light catchers for their windows and making homemade ice cream. The day before Pippa's birthday was Wednesday (two days from now) and Ariadne was calling that her birthday eve. They would watch the movie and play the soundtrack to get hyped up. There were little figurines of the characters she'd found and brought from Paris that they could paint. And when she went to sleep her and Penelope (and Cobb and Miles and Arthur if they wanted to help) would decorate the house like the Beast's castle. A glowing rose on display on the coffee table (she'd found a way to make that work) and sweeping curtains and Belle themed decorations from the party store of course. They'd have a brunch set up, with a candlestick and clock that looked like Lumiere and Cogsworth as centerpieces and drink tea from a replica set of Mrs. Potts, Chip and others (that she pre-ordered off of Amazon as soon as she found out what theme Pippa wanted). Then they'd let her open presents and have all afternoon to play with them before getting ready for the show and dinner reservations Cobb made. It was brilliant.

A little after dinner and before the kids went to bed, Ariadne suggested they bake cookies to munch on for the week. Beauty and the Beast themed because Ariadne found, ordered and brought some character cookie cutters. (Arthur swore she was just as into this as Philippa was). The grocery wasn't far so Cobb ran out and got some cookie mix: Chocolate chip, sugar and snickerdoodle to last them awhile. One for each of the kids to bake their own batch (including Ariadne because as far as this birthday week was concerned, she was very much one of the kids). Cobb sat on the other side of James and observed with his nightly coffee in his hands. Miles was turning on the oven and letting it heat, Penelope was mixing together some homemade icing and Arthur leant against the counter with coffee in one hand and his phone in the other. It was a convenient time to check his emails.

"Ok, if you could be a fairytale character who would you be?" Ariadne continued with her self-made list of interview questions to keep the children engaged in a conversation of their own instead of listening to whatever the adults discussed. They were such interesting questions that the other four listened in to hear the kids' silly answers. The Architect rolled her dough into a ball and then flattened it on the cookie sheet. Pippa and James closely followed suit. "Mmm—"

"—Buzz Lightyear!" James jumped up. He was the epitome of adorable with flour all over his face and sticky hands. Dom patiently ordered him to sit back on his bottom.

Philippa gave him a look, "That's not a fairytale." She picked up a cutter and let Ariadne help her guide it down through the dough, "Rapunzel! James can be Pascal and Mr. Eames can be Flynn."

"Mr. Eames?!" Cobb sputtered, clearly disliking the thought of the Forger being his little girl's prince. Miles just shook his head and pulled out milk from the fridge to pour for the three hard-working bakers. Penelope may have snickered to herself.

"What?" The blonde girl shrugged, "He looks like him with all that hair on his face." Dom sighed. Thank God that was it. Then Philippa picked up a cookie cutter of Belle's face and held it up next to the Architect's, "You look like Belle. Plus you're French. You should be her."

Ariadne laughed, "But who would be the Beast? Your neighbor's dog?" That made James double over in laughter and nearly drop the dough in his hands.

"Uncle Arthur!" The small girl called out like it was the most obvious answer on the planet. "Yeah!" James piped up again. And again, Cobb had to scold him for sitting unsafe on the barstool. Instead of arguing, the little boy sat back but continued wholeheartedly nodding. Arthur stiffened and lifted his head from the cellular device when he heard himself mentioned. He could multitask; The Point Man wasn't completely aloof to the dialogue. How would Ariadne handle it? Depending on the direction she went, he would have to adjust his disagreement.

"That's interesting…" Ariadne's brow furrowed and she rolled another ball of dough, "why Uncle Arthur?" She made a cursory glance at Miles and then Cobb, completely skirting over Arthur's uncomfortable stare. Penelope didn't seem to be paying attention, her focus still on the mixture in her bowl. (But determinedly at nothing but the bowl. And she was holding in a smile, noticed the man of details.)

Philippa handed a cookie cutter to Dom to help James with, "Well the Beast turns into the prince. And Uncle Arthur is really nice and dresses fancy." Miles hiccupped a laugh and placed those glasses of milk in front of each of them. Cobb shook his head at the crazy things his kids said.

"Future reference Pip, just because a boy has manners and wears lots of suits doesn't mean he's a prince…" Ariadne gave Arthur a pointed and challenging look, "or charming." Then she took a swig of the fresh, cold milk. Happy with her slight joke and that Penelope nodded in agreement.

In an innocent, matter of fact way, the little girl countered, "Well, I still want you two to fall in love." Choking on her beverage, Ariadne spit half of it back into the glass, spewing it gracelessly. She was coughing and blushing five hundred different shades of red. If Arthur were not standing a foot away, she could've laughed about it but his presence threw her off.

Arthur didn't look any better. His whole body tensed, his eyes flabbergasted and wild as he replied, "Excuse me?" He addressed the matter almost as if Philippa had cussed. It didn't help that darn Penelope was hiding her cheeky grin in that stupid bowl and Miles had turned to look into the empty oven just so his face couldn't be seen. Cobb was the only one who seemed to understand what a debacle his child had just made of the night.

The small blonde was oblivious to the effect her comment had. Continuing to cut cookies like she said nothing at all, she shrugged, "You hardly ever smile but you do every time you talk to Ari. It's like you can't help but let her make you happy." Well Philippa clearly had never seen them interact, Ariadne thought. She didn't make Arthur smile…maybe one or two closed lipped ones just to be friendly enough not to crush her spirit…but she hardly was (_ever_) a cause of his happiness. Arthur opened his mouth to disprove her but—

Cobb scolded her, "Phillippa."

"Like Mommy made Daddy happy!" James threw his hands in the air. And Dom pushed them back down with a stern, "James."

"What? It's true!" Philippa defended after getting in trouble. Children have a way of embarrassing adults without even realizing. She definitely looked at Uncle Arthur but didn't see the wide eyes and gritted jaw. And she glanced at Auntie Ari and overlooked her downcast eyes and red tint flaming down her neck. "Grandpa and Grandma said so while you were cooking dinner!"

For the first time, Penelope looked embarrassed herself and shot a worried look over at her husband. When Arthur and Cobb gave the Miles' each a disbelieving glare, Stephen tried desperately to wave it off, "Sweetheart, we weren't talking about—"

"Yeah huh!" James joined in with his sister and argued, "Daddy was cooking. And we were watching tv in the living room while Auntie Ari was taking a bath and Uncle Arthur was outside on the phone and you said—"

The Professor shot an apologizing glance at Ariadne before insisting to his grandson, "I—_said _I was happy they seemed to be becoming friends."

The little girl crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head adamantly, "_No, _you said—"

"James, Philippa," Dom interrupted in the niche of time, "why don't you put the last batch of cookies into the oven?" The glare he gave them said it was enough and to stop discussing it. The two children quieted obediently and let Ariadne and Cobb help them down to carry their trays to their grandfather to put in.

James loudly whispered to his sister, "Uncles _always_ have to have Aunts to go with them…"

Philippa looked over her shoulder at Arthur, "It could happen."

Arthur and Ariadne looked at each other awkwardly and uneasily. At least knowing that the other was just as "offended" and unnerved was reassuring. The Architect had settled (and paled back down) enough to wince. To try to let the kids down gently, "That's very cute, Sweetie, but I wouldn't count on it."

"Quite impossible," Arthur mumbled.

Cobb suggested in a hurry, "Come on, we can watch one episode on Disney while we wait and I'll let you have one cookie before bed."

While a particularly ridiculous (but incredibly hilarious for the children) episode of 'Austin and Ally' played in the background and The Extractor and Professor monitored the children while Penelope took a bath, Ariadne checked the delicacies in the oven. The Point Man (who'd been on his laptop in the living area) came into the kitchen to grab another cup of coffee. He figured he should help her wash out the bowls of batter while he was in there. It was weird between them the last half hour and he wanted to break the ice again so he joked, "You didn't put any garlic in the cookies, did you?"

"No. Thank God you were too busy shoving your nose into your phone to interfere."

He swatted her hand away when she tried to flick leftover batter onto his cheek. "Is it just me or has the entire world bought into Eames' conspiracy theory that we're secretly pining after the other?"

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, "How do we even give off that impression…?"

Dom felt two small fingers tap his shoulder so he pivoted to Philippa expectantly; With pursed lips, she pointed to the kitchen. After following her gaze, the Extractor found Ariadne and Arthur at the sink talking and jesting, hip to hip. The little girl settled back into her seat with a self-satisfied grin, without a word.  
xxxxxxx

After a dreadful morning full of struggling to find everything on Ariadne's list for the birthday, Arthur and Dom triumphantly pulled into the driveway with a trunk full of bags. It was rough…and that was sugarcoating it. Neither men understood the words 'Lumiere' or 'Cogsworth,' they believed Ariadne had written those items in French. Cobb had watched the movie with the kids before but he didn't remember what kind of 'glass dome shaped' object would be best to put an enchanted rose in so they just got a glass bowl. Because the character Belle loved to read, Ariadne wanted to get those hollowed out books that double as boxes to set out pastries in. Arthur and Dom got a few normal books. She wanted cheap, sweeping, dark purple and grey curtains to rip and hang like in the Beast's west wing…they got sparkly grey and bright violet purple. All this and they were proud of their accomplishment.

Sounds of splashing and children squealing and laughing were everywhere once they got out of the car. Dom made an educated guess as to what they were doing and smiled while he popped the trunk and heaved some bags through the back door. Arthur followed suit, grabbing two of the plastic bags filled to the brim curtains, when he heard Philippa scream, "Ah! Help us! Help!" Not wanting to blow it over as playing in case it was real, Arthur jogged ahead of the car to look in the backyard. On the way, he imagined thirteen different ways he could get his shoes and jacket off in ten seconds and dive in after one of the kids. Was no one watching them? Then James started squealing and Ariadne (so someone _was _out there) was yelling, "Nooo!" Was she not strong enough to rescue two drowning kids at once? When they came into view with heads above water and breathing normal, Arthur let out an aggravated sigh. His eyes jumped between the two he believed to be in danger. James: Was in the shallow end with arm floaties and a giant squirt gun, violently and happily drenching the other two swimmers. Philippa: (with goggles pushed on top of her head and hair a ratty mess) was sitting in an adult sized chair floatie, half in the lap of—

This is why children shouldn't make sounds and petitions like their drowning unless they actually are. Because adults actually believe them and frantically run over to find their co-worker (well, friend) looking _very friendly_ in a hunter green two-piece. Ariadne and Philippa were laughing and holding up their arms to block James' streamers of water. Arthur's eardrum function and entire circulatory system stopped on a dime out of shock. As bit by bit, he recovered from the sight, his gaze sought the ground. He felt embarrassed for some reason almost as if he'd walked in on her in the shower. The Point Man felt he completely invaded her privacy and seen something he shouldn't have. Because well…he shouldn't have. Quickly, his feet carried him towards the back door (was it that hot outside or was all of that heat coming from his face?) but some unknown force turned his head back. Arthur had no idea what he expected. That the second time he looked, she would miraculously appear in jeans, a cardigan, a scarf and—clothes? Way more clothes. No, she looked the same and completely oblivious to his two brown orbs latched onto her like a grappling hook on a ledge. Ariadne laughed innocently (_too_ innocently), her creamy—

Arthur stop.

-It's a valid adjective. Her two legs pulled into her chest and her and Philippa ducked their heads together to cover each other from the spray. Behind or to the side or somewhere around Arthur, a door opened and closed and feet were scraping along the cement back to the trunk to grab more bags. Faster than lightning, Arthur yanked his head away and—Stepped right into the side of the house. Forehead colliding with siding. Finally, Arthur felt the soil of the flowerbeds all over and in his shoes, dirtying the bottom of his pant legs. And looking down, the man realized a) he dropped one bag closer to the backyard and b) he'd trampled all over Cobb's marigolds. "Sure are taking your time, Arthur," Dom commented with his head inside the trunk. Arthur marched out of the flowers and over to retrieve his second bag before his friend could catch him completely out of sorts. "I heard the kids screaming in the back so I wanted to check."

"Yeah," punctuated by the close of the trunk, "Miles and Penelope said they've been swimming all morning. Begged and begged them all to get in with them." Arthur's head cleared up as he trailed behind the father into the house and felt some good air conditioning.

Penelope was at the counter, a towel-like sundress covering her swimsuit and a pop of blue sunglasses sitting in her silver hair. Bananas, strawberries, blueberries and peaches were spread out around her. Cubes of each fruit making their way into a large yellow bowl for a fruit salad. Miles was at the stove making some grilled cheeses. Some sat cooling off: three with salami and brie oozing out for the adults. He was working on two with plain American cheese and nothing else for the kids. A pitcher of lemonade and paper cups sat at the ready on the table closest to the door as well as a bag of chips. Arthur saw where Dom discarded the other bags of decorations and placed them there. "Either of you want a sandwich?" Miles offered, never looking up from his skillet. Declining for himself but leaving it open for Arthur, the Extractor leaned on the counter and shrugged, "No thanks. We grabbed a sub while we were out, I'm not very hungry." The Point was addressed specifically then. He politely rejected as well, going to wash his hands in the sink and pour himself a glass of milk.

There was no regular hand-soap in the kitchen so Arthur resorted to dish soap. Either way it cleaned the same. While he was scrubbing and rinsing, Penelope's voice carried over the rushing water of the faucet and asked them if they got everything. Cobb rejoined, "I hope. We did pretty well, I think." At which point, Arthur idly glanced up through the window in front of him and there she was again…it wasn't as if Arthur had never seen a woman in a bathing suit before or as if he'd never seen one at all. He'd just never seen (and never intended to quite honestly) their Architect looking like one of those women in a bathing suit. Or one of those women at all. The Point Man wasn't sure why it paralyzed him so. Perhaps because damn…that was a lot of skin. Ariadne wasn't well endowed. Her curves were barely there but they were _there. _

"Neither of us are experts but we did our best with the list," someone—he wasn't paying attention to who—said, all muffled sounding. If he was thinking correctly, there was no doubt that it was Cobb.

Ariadne was super skinny, bony almost. Everything about her was small which, yeah, he knew. She was short. But each joint, each bone was petite. Her wrists, her ankles, her collar bones…her hips. He could break her in two with little effort. Well anyone could, really.

"Well, it looks like your trip was a success."

"Yeah. I'm gonna show Ariadne what we got though, just in case we royally screwed up."

"You should do that when we go out for lunch. That's the only way you're going to get her out of the pool to look. James and Pippa have nearly kept her hostage out there."

Never had the Point Man ever seen the young woman without a scarf. It was jarring because her scarves were one of the constants in his ever-changing surroundings. "Good idea. Come on, Arthur." He'd never seen her legs. Legs that were factually, statistically short but seemed to go on and on and on, stretched out on that floatie. What was wrong with him? Was his attention to detail getting so strong that he couldn't keep himself from analyzing everything put in front of him? "Arthur." The Point Man began to blink his eyes to snap himself out of his examining-induced coma. This is exactly the kind of thing he didn't want to happen. Spending so much time with her that he eventually saw this. Saw his co-worker so candid. It was borderline grotesque viewing her like she was a—woman. Maybe not entirely grotesque, that was an insult to her. Just strange and forbidden and he needed to pull himself together this very inst—

"Ar—thur." His name penetrated his mind at last. "Are you ok?" Penelope and Miles' stares began to seep into Arthur while Cobb cut his arm across him and shut off the faucet. Everything Point Man flooded back into him. "What? I was washing my hands."

The Extractor looked pointedly at Arthur's clothes, "And your clothes apparently."

Arthur regarded himself. Oh. The water had sprayed out of his hands and onto the bottom half of his shirt and top half of his pants. "I think there's a leak in your faucet," he twisted the rim around the top where the water came out as if he was tightening it. Cobb repeated his instruction to go out and show Ariadne what they got and Arthur steeled.  
xxxxxx

"Daddy!" Exclaimed the delighted, pint-sized blondes. It caused Ariadne to look up. Dom and Arthur were back (already? That was too fast for success) and holding bags for her inspection. Miles and Penelope strolled out behind them holding lunch in their hands. The woman's stomach growled greedily just thinking of biting into one of those sandwiches. James and Philippa were much faster than she was, wading through the water and hopping out of the pool. Ariadne took her time getting to the ladder on the side and climbing out, "Hey, how'd it go?"

Cobb smiled, "You tell me." Philippa attempted to peek in the bag but Dom held it above his head and playfully glared at her. Humming, she abandoned her efforts and joined her brother at the picnic table. Arthur ignored every existence around him. Probably brooding from having to shop for princess merchandise. The Point was all stiffness and frowns, he wouldn't even look at her. His eyes stayed on the concrete while she threw a towel around her, grabbed her sandwich and sauntered over. Was he that upset about his small chore? When she got closer, she noticed how dark his clothes were in two areas. To make him talk, she jibed, "Did you pee on yourself, Arthur?"

"Cobb's kitchen sink was acting up," gritted the man in front of her. This person was such a mystery. She never knew who he was going to be. Or what triggered his multiple personalities (Ariadne was sure he had that disorder. Even googled it on Web MD out of curiosity. It was also the same website that made her think she had internal hemorrhaging from an aneurism when she really had a head cold…so whether she could take its word was iffy.)

On one hand, she absolutely hated Arthur. Ariadne was the type of girl whose favorite pastime was figuring everyone out. Their little quirks and habits. She just loved _people _and what made them unique. The way certain humans processed thoughts, how they reacted, how they laughed and cried. Every single person's differences and the common threads in certain groups too…they made the world colorful and exciting to be in. You would never meet the same person twice. And yet, Arthur wouldn't let you meet him. He was black and white. Sure he had his OCD and self-commanded rules and suits that made him a being all his own but what was past that? Blankness. There was more there and Ariadne's curiosity gave her insides third degree burn every moment she was with him. Because she wanted to see how he processed thoughts but his eyes were so often closed up. Like you weren't looking through a window, you were looking at a wall. Ariadne literally yearned to see him react—really react—to something without calculating and scripting himself first. Like she did with each body she met, she wanted to see and know and file away his candidness. And The Point Man did _not _make it easy. The Architect had known Arthur almost two years now and he was still mostly a stranger. It vexed her to the core. Arthur factually frustrated Ariadne to no God-given end. And she hated him—absolutely hated him for being that way.

On the other hand, she really liked him. Put a nice, smooth talking, sharply dressed con man complete with dimples and those dark eyes in front of woman and see whether or not she would find him attractive. _Every _woman would. Ariadne was only human and only female. She had a pulse, so yeah she looked and appreciated sometimes. It wouldn't ever go anywhere but as annoying as he was, his touch was welcomed. And damn him, why couldn't they just be friends? They didn't have to get married or anything but what she wouldn't give to know him like Cobb did. Perhaps she was superficial. Maybe she was just as feeling-less as Arthur…wanting to get to know him only to say she could and she did. Just to solve the mystery like Nancy Drew and stop all the questions in her mind. Crack the Da Vinci Code that was this Point Man and be done with it.

"Yeah it has some real bad temper tantrums sometimes," she goaded. Ariadne was getting to the point where she tormented Mr. Cool as much as Eames. The Parisian was beginning to understand why he did it so much; exacerbation was basically the only proven way to see a little spark in Arthur's eyes (even if the spark was negatively charged). But you know what? Arthur was more tolerant of her poking fun than of Eames and he hadn't chewed her head off about it yet so she would continue to do it. Almost like the troublemaker child that tries to see how far she can push all of her authoritative figures before they snap and actually discipline. She watched his Adam's apple as he swallowed and then caught his eyes flicker up at her, bemused but almost—scared? No couldn't be scared. After he looked at her sandwich… or the polka dot towel she was swathed in (she couldn't figure it out)…the tension seemed to leave his body and he regarded her way more easily than two seconds before.

He was a strange one.

Anyways, Cobb pulled her over to the side and drew out some of their bounty while she munched. From the first item he pulled out, Ariadne knew their trip had been an utter, miserable, disaster. Poor man. He was beaming with pride and enthusiasm and he was so, so, _so _wrong. Biting her lip hard and concentrating on not embarrassing him with rolling on the cement and laughing at his tragic confusion, she continued to observe as he pulled out golden crowns and pink plates with the wrong princess on them. And then came the books…the _actual _books. And the curtains…the purple was so violet and phosphorescent, it might glow if she shined a light on it. What was the punch bowl for? And yeah, Lumiere means light in French but despite being impressed that they knew that, she didn't mean grab any light fixture, she meant one that remotely resembled the one in the movie. Definitely not a strobe light. It was also very sweet that they picked up a few things that weren't on the list that they believed when with the theme. For instance, the life-size blow up figures of Flora, Fauna and Meriweather. Too bad they were characters from an entirely separate franchise that the one Philippa wanted. "I'm so sorry, Cobb." Don't smile. Don't smile. Smiling would make him feel bad. "This is all wrong."

Dom's dejected face and Arthur's wide 'you've got to be shitting me' eyes made her want to cry. Out of laughter, pity, sympathy or all freakin' three. The Extractor stuttered, packaged wands (honestly which Disney princess ever had a wand?) in hand, "What? How? This is the Beauty princess. It said so on the overhead label at the store. We were in the Beauty girl section. We read it."

Ariadne winced, "Yeah…but this is _Sleeping _Beauty. Not Beauty _and the Beast._ They're two separate entities."

Arthur huffed and rubbed his forehead, "I knew we should've asked someone."

"I thought I had it under control," argued the Blonde. "You didn't ask for assistance at the cake counter."

The Point Man leveled him a look, "Because I do my research and I figured it out."

Flustered, The Extractor gestured his hands to the bags of failure, "And you didn't notice the decorations were different at all?"

"You insisted you had it under control," stated Arthur calmly with a hint of mocking in the tone. Ariadne loved when he let things like that slip. It wasn't humorous but it was humorous. Two disconcerted grown men arguing about princess cakes and fairy wings. Ariadne was torn between breaking them up and recording it. Eames and Yusuf would pay good money to see that. Arthur stopped the squabble of his own accord and turned to the Architect with his phone, "Here's a picture of the one I ordered. I remembered something about the princess' name being Belle so I looked for that in the store catalog…"

Again, it was comical: Arthur showing her a cake design for a little girl's ninth birthday as if he was going over blueprints for the white house. Once she saw the photo, she smirked. Mr. Perfect was just so sure of his accuracy…but Ariadne was the expert in this realm of things. "Arthur, dear, that's _Tinker_belle. And she's not a princess, she's a fairy."

Cobb pointed with an affinitive, "Arthur is wrong! I'm marking this day on my calendar."

"The score is still 3 to five million." Arthur sneered and Dom pursed his lips back at him. He almost flipped him the finger but refrained when he glimpsed over as his children and in laws.

Following a bite of bread, the Architect sighed, "I guess I have to drag you boys back out and show you how it's done."  
xxxxxx

Having a typically dressed Ariadne did wonders for his sanity. Unfortunately they went back to the giant party store, returned what they worked so hard to find and started afresh. Both men followed her as she flitted and pranced around the store. Dom had this open, awestruck visage while she pointed stuff out like it was a world anew. He took in everything she said (making notes for future years). It almost paralleled the first time they dreamed together. Arthur kept to pushing the buggy behind them, uninterested and quite frankly feeling like the third wheel. On top of it all, trying not to see flashes of hunter green on the Architect when he happened to fleetingly look over her.

Turned out, the Beauty and the Beast section was two aisles down from the one they spent three hours in that morning. How lucky they were back…That is where Ariadne picked up the correct plates, cups, silverware, banner and balloons. In the back of the store (strangely in the bridal shower section) was where she presented the piece of glassware she was going to turn into the case for the enchanted rose. (It made a lot more sense when he looked at the right object and then compared it with the picture he googled). Why didn't they just bring her the first time? It would've saved the men a lot of headache and trouble.

A little more excited about the extravaganza they were putting together for Pippa, they headed to the big Disney Store at the mall. Ariadne had already done the research (good for her. She was well informed; it was commendable.) and knew she could get the replica tea set of Mrs. Potts, Lumiere and Cogsworth there. There was also a lot of Beauty and the Beast franchise merchandise there they could buy for birthday presents. The Architect said Philippa had mentioned to her that her old Belle costume was too small so one of her gifts was going to be a beautiful new Belle dress. As mentioned before the store was large, easy enough to lose yourself in. They'd lost Dom somewhere over in the stuffed animals and Arthur had followed Ariadne to the costumes out of convenience.

How many diverse princesses were there? And how could any girl keep track of them? There was an 'I dream of genie' looking one, an oriental one, an irish one, one in a bathing suit and tail (that was peculiar), a native American princess (at least Pocahontas was historical), one with really long hair, one that came with a frog (but generally girls didn't like frogs. How contradictory…) and then the confusing line of princesses: the blonde in the blue, the blonde in the pink, the brunette in the yellow, the one in primary colors (and an ill-shaped bob cut). And some of them apparently had two costumes. (Seriously, how the hell do girls keep it straight?) The blonde in the pink had the same outfit in blue. The brunette in the yellow had a completely different dress in blue and white. The one red head (there was one with straight red and one with curly) had a pink dress (but didn't that one have a tail? How did that work? And how could little girls logically pretend to have a tail but wear a dress? Something was off in that story). While Arthur felt nothing but overcome with confusion and sparkles, when he looked at Ariadne, she was thumbing through them with nostalgia.

"You know…" began the woman. Ariadne, for the most part, was usually a never-slowing ball of fire and wit and bubbliness…so when she stilled and spoke softly and dreamlike, it was such a change in altitude that Arthur could never keep himself from stepping closer and listening. The Architect spoke her most important words an octave below her normal volume. This was one of those times. The Point Man sat the 3 foot braided blonde wig he was incredulously inspecting down and twisted his entire body to face her. Silently telling her to go on. "When Alex and I were little—and I mean really little, seven and five— I had this huge trunk of costumes and outfits. My friends would come over all the time and we would do nothing but dress up and twirl around," reminisced Ariadne, her index and thumb running down the hem of a blue dress.

Before he could stop himself, an image of the miniscule (a _more_ miniscule) Architect outfitted head to toe in one of the get-ups in front of him skipped and sashayed across his imagination. "Alex would feel so left out, poor thing. One day he decided he was going to play dress-up too. And he did: gloves and plastic heels and a dress," Ariadne began to chuckle. "He was a baby…all he knew was that he was finally getting to play with me and my friends and making us laugh. We took a million pictures that day; I can't tell you how many crazy things I got him to put on." The bright smile dimmed to a thoughtful gaze, "I always told him that when he found a girl and married her, I was going to blackmail him with a slideshow of the pictures so he—so he wouldn't leave me." Quickly, she swallowed hard and examined the gold dress determinedly.

Arthur hadn't thought of that: that James and Philippa might remind her so precisely of her and her younger brother. He never (and he should've) pondered how difficult their presence and sibling-ness must be for the Architect. When he dredged up his memory of the night before and what he'd seen that day, he could pick out telling signs. Mainly that James wanted always to be at Ariadne's side and she rarely declined. The younger boy strived for her attention and she gave it to him without hesitation. There was no doubt Philippa was just as special to Ariadne and the Parisian had shown her superior attention because it was _her _she had come for but there was also no denying the melancholy adoration in the woman's eyes when James would ask a question or crawl in her lap or lean his head on her shoulder. She visibly melted. Of course. Ariadne still missed her baby brother dearly. "I think Philippa would like the gold outfit better," stated the Architect while taking that, the matching ballet flats and gloves and laying them into the basket.

It pained Arthur. Not that she was saddened necessarily but that for whatever reason, without fail, he repeatedly wanted to smear that sadness away. It was not like him. And yet…

xxxxxxx

"Ariadne." Had she zoned out into the basket again? Ariadne obliged and lifted her gaze to—

Arthur in a crown.

Personality four. One of those bizarro times when the elusive figure of secrets morphed into everything she needed at the time and everything she wanted from him ever. That once in a lifetime moment where Arthur was genuine and unguarded and not-so-serious. It was more his intention than his actual appearance that cracked her smile again. "Where to next?" He asked.

"Help me find the animator's collection doll." Arthur saluted and started to scan the room. It was awesome having a tall friend. Since she wasn't tall herself she was gonna use and abuse his quality for her own benefit. He pointed to the room over and they slid their way through the sea of people at the registers. Ariadne really hoped Dom didn't get lost in there; she made sure her phone was turned up all the way and held it in her hand in case he called to meet up with them somewhere.

Telling you, the day was full of priceless images. Once she repeated the name of the doll (the same theme they'd been discussing all day…men…), Arthur was crouched down peering through a section of dolls with a crown on his head. Slyly, the Architect stood above him like she was looking through the top shelf but instead made a silly open mouthed face, pointed to the top of his head and snapped a picture. His head shot up. Damn. She forgot she turned the volume to the max and the camera made that stupid clicking sound. "Did you just…"

Ever gone from having blast to nearly shitting your pants in less than a second? That was Ariadne when Arthur's eyes darkened and turned almost murderous. "Delete that this instant." Besides the cliché saucer-wide eyes and rubbing her lips together awkwardly, Ariadne held her phone behind her back and backed up slowly as he stood and met her step for step like a cat and its prey. Her head tilted, "But you can't even see your face in it…"

As he lunged for her, she ran through the aisles until he cornered her in an actual corner back by the stuffed animals. (Was Cobb somewhere in here? She needed a savior…) When all looked doomed, she stuck her phone in the front waistband of her jeans and shot him a shit-eating grin. No way in frozen over hell would Arthur's hand even begin to touch her midriff area. He growled in response. The important detail for her to remember here was that he still had the pretty little crown rested in his gelled back hair. "Ariadne…" he warned. Both arms emphasized his seriousness (like it _really_ need more emphasizing) by slamming into the shelf by her head and then leaning his head close threateningly.

Ariadne really like when his face was that close. His arms weren't threatening anything but to wrap around her and if he asked, she was all for it. Arthur's fake anger was nothing short of alluring. She responded to that by sniggering, "There are such things as manners, Princess. Where's your 'please'?"

"Delete the photo," deadpanned the Point.

"I can't. I need it." she effortlessly countered.

Gritting (that jawline…), Arthur demanded, "Why? You have a standing bet with Eames?"

Bravely, Ariadne reached up to tweak his crown, "Penelope actually. We were sure sometime during Philippa's birthday week, you'd be forced into a crown. First one with a picture gets a free lunch."

Something random jolted in her toes when his eyes cut to her stomach where her phone poked out. "Give it to me."

Someone's dad scowled at Arthur, "Come on man, we're in a children's store. Get a hotel room or something."

Normally Ariadne would've been beat red but Arthur's embarrassed, caught off guard, stuttering made her cover her mouth to smother her giggling instead. "No…that's not what—we're not—I'm sorry, sir." He pulled away like lightning and put a foot of distance between them. "You've just made us look very unprofessional."

"You're in luck; We're not working."

Arthur sighed once more and removed the headpiece, "Fine you can keep it. But it's for your and Penelope's eyes only. You're the only ones allowed to see me wearing a crown."

"I feel so privileged."  
xxxxxxx

Hehehehehe. I just love reluctant attraction. I think its funny that they get on each other's nerves so bad but they ultimately can't help but generally like the other. There was a little more Ari POV this chapter than normal. Likey? No likey?

**Next chapter**: Philippa's party, the show and dinner. Plus any suggestions I love so much that I want to add them.  
**Chapter song: **High Times by Landon Pigg (the version for Dickies with Alia Shawkat as backup is my fave)


	8. Something There

Reviewers! Muses! My favorite people! _Lauraa-x: _Haha wooot! Probably my favorite so far too. Get ready for more bombs. Thanks so much for the chocolate. It was virtually yummy. Aha. _Numbah435spiritsong: _Yes! The entire Cobb/Miles family ship them. If you think about it so did Ari's mom. So does Eames. Who are the blind ones here?! Lol. _Guest: _Yes she is! I would totally link to the original image of anyone who could photoshop a crown on his head for my Story Elaborations section on my profile. Ahahaha. Voting at the end of the chappie actually!

_got penguins: _sincere gratitude for favoriting and following the story.

_ecolution: _Me, Ari and Arthur looooove that you favorited this story. Thanks!

**Chapter 8: Something There**

With the commotion and happiness inside, one would've never known how dreary the day of Philippa's party was. Arthur was the only one who stopped long enough to notice the lack of blue in the sky and the constant drizzle and mucky puddles. Philippa's _actual_ birthday went over without a hitch. She woke up to the brunch in the morning, had cake, opened presents and squealed a ton. Before everyone knew it, it was time for the long awaited show at the Hollywood Bowl. In good fortune, the weather had cleared up by the time the crew was preparing to head out. Philippa insisted on wearing her yellow Belle costume and her 'Birthday Princess' crown that Ariadne bought her to the show, complete with little yellow gloves and ballet flats. Penelope curled her hair while Ariadne got ready.

The birthday girl begged Ariadne to wear white and blue like pre-princess Belle so they could coordinate. (Good thing the Architect had guessed the little girl might and brought one that worked. It wasn't a costume but it was themed appropriately. People might stare if she came in costume like the small girl.)

As always the men were waiting on the women. Miles donned a tweed blazer and dark brown suit pants finished with a dark brown button up and red bowtie. Penelope had finished earlier than the other two females. She stood by the door counting the tickets with Miles in an elegant sapphire colored dress. Intricate beading lined the boat neck and edges of her sleeves. Cobb was in his trusty black suit, light blue shirt and dark blue tie. His dress sense—even when formal—was altogether simplistic. The Extractor was knelt on the ground twisting James' pants so they looked right. (The young boy wanted to try doing all of it by himself except Penelope had picked out his clothes.) James clicked his tongue in boredom waiting for father to finish in brown corduroy pants, white dress shirt, and golden yellow sweater vest and bowtie. The Point Man was waiting patiently waiting at the door looking at his phone again. The patience was dwindling down and being replaced by anxiety because he knew they needed to get their early to avoid standing in too long a line for entrance. He chose his navy blue three piece for the occasion accompanied by a white dress shirt bright azure blue tie (tied in the Eldridge knot) and his polished Italian shoes. Just as he was fixing to say something about the time, the two girls holding everyone up came down the stairs at the same time; Pippa bounded brighter and faster than Ariadne and twirled at the bottom, calling all of their attention, "How do I look, Daddy?"

"Like a princess!" Cobb grinned and kissed her head.

Arthur looked up with the intent to regard Philippa but his cursed eyes betrayed him and passed right over the little girl to watch Ariadne descend the last few steps. The Architect looked different than he'd ever seen her. In the warehouse, here on vacation, in a bathing suit or even than in the dress at her brother's funeral. Ariadne dressed fine for her work and like a hipster college student would be expected to, Arthur didn't judge her for it. And she looked very nice in the black dress back home: put together, more femme than usual. But here, tonight, Ariadne looked _lovely. Sweet_. It was odd…

So, naturally, he kept looking her over. Taking everything into memorization so he could analyze it like a blueprint later. It wasn't but a simple dress with a full blue skirt, a lacy white top and blue Peter Pan collar. She wore flats at the funeral but tonight opted to wear bright blue wedges and they made her legs look longer even than they'd been in that hunter green—wait, why was he looking at her legs? Creasing his brow, he made his eyes shoot back up to her face. A light shade of gloss made her lips sheen as she smiled down at Pippa. Strings of curls fell by eyes but were pushed back behind her ear. Ariadne's hair had effort put into it, carefully placed into a low chignon. She inquired if everyone was ready. Cobb was the one who nodded and then politely commented, "You look like a princess too."

So Cobb had also noticed the sweeping change from casual bohemian girl to—whatever angelic, charming lady this was. Ariadne rolled her eyes and shook her head timidly, then allowed Philippa to grasp her hand and drag her out the door like a rag doll. The older of the two barely (and by barely I mean not at all) noticed Arthur's blatant gawp as she passed him in a flurry of pleasantness and what his nose decided was vanilla. Feeling himself being watched, the Point Man caught the Professor's eye. As soon as Miles lifted one brow and turned his head, Arthur ducked his back to his phone. He wanted to slap himself for becoming distracted again. The text he meant to send to his most recent employer inquiring about the amount of money he received looked something like:

_Mr. Kaufke, I've only received payment for half og fhoi3&208 eji,,sl kdfrgsaaaeiafw (_

While James hollered for them to wait for him and rushed from his father's ministrations to claim a seat by the Architect in the car, Arthur deleted the entire draft with gritted teeth. Cobb yelled at James to slow down, grabbed his coat and keys and walked out. Arthur followed him before Penelope and Miles could get close enough to give him those looks again. They locked the door last.  
xxxxxx

The kids deserved credit for waiting in the line as long-sufferingly as they had. James mostly sat on the cleanest slab of concrete he could find and played his video games. Philippa entertained herself by playing with her set of small figurines Dom had gotten her and speculating all the charms on the bracelet Penelope gifted her with. When that bored her, she played her next favorite game: Embarrass Ariadne and Arthur to Death. Conveniently, it was portable and would never run out of batteries. Harmlessly enough, Philippa skipped over to the Point Man and hugged his hand to her. Batting her eyelashes, she asked, "Uncle Arthur," with that sickeningly sweet tone of hers, "Do you think I look pretty?"

Softer than the Architect had ever witnessed, he smiled down at the girl, "Of course Pippa."

She hugged his hand tighter then looked pointedly at Penelope, "And Grandma's dress is pretty too."

He nodded affirmatively, "Yes, she looks wonderful as well."

Ariadne saw it first. As soon as Philippa's saccharine smile turned into a sly grin with a dipped chin and penetrating blue eyes, Ariadne wanted to hide under a rock. That face was never up to any good. Usually, when Philippa pulled that look, her face caught fire shortly after. "And you think Auntie Ari looks pretty too, right? And I mean _really, really pretty_?"

Trap. Why didn't Arthur see that trap? He chanced a stiffened gaze on the Architect. It wasn't really a question _if _he thought she looked agreeable. The mere fact that her full blue skirt blowing in the night breeze was one of the top three thoughts on his mind (followed by: How long would this show last? And when he was going to get his correct payment wired in) was proof that the little girl's statement was correct. The question was whether he should voice it or not. He'd told her she looked nice before, never pretty. That could be construed in a way that made him seem attracted to her. You could think someone was good looking and have no real interest in a relationship with them. But people jumped to conclusions and over-analyzed (like he was doing now) and therefore misunderstood intentions and then friendships and work groups got messy. Arthur ultimately decided that he could use the word 'amiable' as a safe alternative for 'pretty' or 'lovely' so he began to rephrase when—

Ariadne shifted her stance and looked to the ground embarrassed at his silence. She felt silly in front of him. Childlike. Arthur was a man well-traveled. He was sure to have seen exotic and mind-blowingly gorgeous women during his career. "You don't have to answer that." Instantaneously, she scolded the young blonde. "Philippa, really?"

"What? It's a normal question." The girl looked between them with a visage that said smart-ass if she could use such language, "I asked it about everyone. Besides…" Philippa used Arthur's hand to twirl herself and then crossed her arms at Ariadne, "Don't you think he looks _especially handsome _in his suit?"

Did she? It was Arthur's turn to feel the hairy, prickling fingers of self-consciousness. Ariadne didn't even give him a once-over to refresh her memory of his appearance like he had her (even though he didn't need a refresher. Her dress and heels and legs and chignon were ingrained in his mind right now) she crossed her arms right back at the little girl, "I think he looks _especially _like he always does." Mocking her, she fluttered her eyelashes too.

"So you're saying he always looks handsome?"

Philippa's fluttering eyelashes had no effect on the Architect. She fluttered hers too, "I'm saying he always wears suits."

That almost felt as offensive as he suspected his silence had.

"Ugh," the little girl sighed, "Work with me here, you two."

They moved closer to the door so Stephen interrupted the awkwardness and handed everyone their tickets to get in (Well Cobb held James' for him). Ariadne left her spot by Arthur and went up a few spaces to share some words with Penelope. He should've said something, anything other than staring at her blankly and acting like stating something positive about her appearance would've been a lie. The Architect waited until the line moved up again and it seemed they weren't too far from being let in to find their seats to return by him in line. He fixed his pocket square and offered an opportunity to shatter the wall of discomfort, "The kid scare you off?"

Arthur's goal was met when she hiccupped a laugh, "No, Penelope wanted to ask me what I thought about some new edition to the Louvre." Her eyes danced over him again—then zoned in on an interesting tool in his pocket. The Point watched rigidly but did nothing as she plucked it out, "What is this?" The small button on the bottom was pressed down and the opposite end emitted a small red light on the ground like a laser.

"A laser pointer." Every inch of his body wanted to take it back. It was a very expensive pen, he'd had it a while. She might drop it or break it or mess up the button. He straightened as his hands clenched and unclenched, itching to pry it from her.

"Why would you bring a laser pointer to the show?" The light skipped around the concrete and excited the children as it crawled it's way to Cobb's chest with a smirk on her face, "To scare the actors into thinking someone's gonna shoot them so you can leave early?" By then her private light show had attracted their entire party's attention.

Arthur deadpanned, "It was already in my pocket so I left it." He lifted his hand for it.

The light on the Extractor disappeared and then re-appeared on Arthur's forehead, "Are _you_ getting _lazy_?"

The line moved up yet again and they were one family away from handing their tickets to the ushers. "Would you give it back?" Arthur reached for it but Ariadne shut it off and held it behind her. "Ariadne." Sternly, his voice warned but unlike everyone else, his stern voice didn't intimidate her. Miles beheld the exchange and wholly expected Arthur to scold her like a child any second. To condescend her as he so often did the members of his team.

It wasn't Arthur who spoke, though, it was the woman, "What's the magic word?" She challenged and then condescended _him, _"There are such things as manners, Arthur. Say please and it's all yours."

The Professor was positive the young man would give her a steely look and say something to the effect of 'it's my property. Return it or I will be forced to drop my cordiality.' Stephen and Penelope even shot glances to each other worried and anxious. Cobb was rubbing his neck and waiting for the Point's bark. The kids had wide eyes (they never liked Uncle Arthur's serious and demanding voice. It always freaked them out.) Instead of all the things the surrounding witnesses predicted him to do or say, Arthur rolled his eyes and _smiled. _

Definitely unexpected. But none of them knew that ever since her parent's house that phrase was thrown lightly at the other. It was basically saying: let's forget about the kids' teasing and everyone's suggestive looks and just be us. Not let the constant uneasiness get in the way of what was shaping up to be an enjoyable friendship. Arthur took her up on it, "Please?"

Ariadne stuck it back in Arthur's pocket for him right before the group stepped inside. "Tickets."

Xxxxxx

If one sat behind the row of birthday celebrators, from left to right they sat: Cobb, Pippa, Ari, Arthur, James, Miles and Penelope.

Arthur was never one for musicals. He enjoyed live shows because his parents cultured him well growing up. He loved a good, well written play that made you think…but musicals? He always found them inexplicably cheesy. Especially ones about fairytales and true love and all that Disney nonsense. They filled children's heads with standards that were never lived up to in the real world. And promised them happy endings that they wouldn't get. This one seemed ok so far though. The only thing more amusing than the man playing Gaston in tights and the kids' mesmerized faces as they watched the stage—was Ariadne: just as enthralled as James and Philippa.

Gaston's first solo, "Me" was magnificently offensive to women. Ariadne deadpanned at the stage, shaking her head in disbelief at all the narcissistic things coming from the man's mouth. Anyone who remotely knew Ariadne knew she was brimming with the desire to jump on the stage and give the man a wedgie he'd never forget. She face palmed more than he counted on one hand. She did a better job of being as incredulous and disgusted as the actress playing Belle. Except while the kids didn't find it as humorous, when he sang _"We shall be the perfect pair, rather like my thighs," _Ariadne lost it. Absolutely sputtering and struggling to smother her guffaws in her hands. Honestly, Ariadne trying to control her laughter and giving Penelope the 'what the hell' face was more entertaining than the show. When the number was over, Arthur couldn't help but lean over and quip, "Is that Eames, up there?"

She giggled and whispered back, "That's exactly what I was thinking."

James giggled at nearly everything and pointed excitedly when the clock came onstage (apparently it was his favorite). Arthur could see where Philippa would get the idea that Ariadne was practically Belle in reality. The character was wide-eyed and adventure seeking, well-read, not fixated on her vanity at all. She bravely jumped into a life-threatening situation (he was a monstrous beast for heaven sakes and that dungeon he started her out in didn't look sanitary at all) just like she'd done during Inception even if Philippa couldn't have made that connection. And above all Belle had that large and optimistic heart. Oh plus the brown hair and eyes and French thing. But to say Arthur was the Beast? He was more like Cogsworth. (As Ariadne had slipped in response to Philippa's prodding in the car).

The next time Gaston came on, Ariadne had a better appreciation by him. The conceit was infectiously comical. Started by Ariadne and Philippa, their whole row swayed side to side bouncing and snapping. Arthur reluctantly sat there amidst them and tried to ignore them. Though Ariadne continuously nudged him every time she came his way. The auditorium started clapping to the beat near the end. Certainly the most crowd pleasing thus far by surprise.

The blonde girl hung on to Ariadne's left arm from there on and the two girls looked at each other every now and again with smiles or frowns depending on what had just happened. Soon, before The Point had even checked his watch out of boredom, the first act was over and the lights came on for intermission. Had it already been an hour and a half? Philippa moved from her seat to sit in Ariadne's lap and Cobb stood to stretch his legs. Penelope asked over the din of the crowd, "So what is everyone's favorite so far?"

"Be Our Guest!" Philippa decidedly nodded and Cobb agreed, "Mine too, the colors were spectacular." James got out of his seat and jumped up and down, "Gaston! He's funny. I like him best now."

Miles chuckled, "Yes, he's a trip."

James kicked his legs contentedly and tugged on Arthur's shoulder, "What about you, Uncle Arthur?"

Flippantly, he shrugged, scrounging for a piece of music that stood out to him that greatly, "I don't know, it was all the same for me."

Ariadne and Philippa wore identical 'you're an idiot' looks, "You _don't know_?" It was fine he not enjoy the production as much as they did. Why was that a crime?

He almost rolled his eyes but countered instead, "Well what was yours then, Aunt Ariadne?"

"The last one." She stated matter-of-fact. Like a stranger off the street could look at her and immediately determine it was her favorite.

That was strange. Arthur rotated his head, "Really? That was my least favorite."

Ariadne snorted, "It would be…" Her fingers went to smoothing out Philippa's dress and her mouth opened like she was about to engage the young one in conversation and cut him out of his. But Arthur was ready for a debate.

"He was whining the whole time about not being given the opportunity to love her because he's ugly. That no other person would move him like that or whatever. I don't understand the clinginess and vulnerability of it. 'If I can't love her, let the world be done with me'? Suicide? Cause she doesn't like him?"

The Architect shook her head pityingly, "You got that song completely wrong."

"_Impossible_. It's in the lyrics." Arthur was already looking them up on his phone to prove to her the silliness of the musical number.

"Exactly." The Parisian looked at the birthday girl and the little one shook her head sadly at Arthur too. Ariadne corrected him easily, "It's not that the opportunity isn't there. It is. She's perfectly capable of loving him despite his ugliness. He won't let himself accept it cause he's so selfish and blind. He's basically saying that if Belle with all her intelligence and compassion can't move him—if he can't care for someone that's so easy to care for—that there's no hope in him ever being human again. If he can't find it in himself to love her than he must be incapable. The world would be better off without him." She grinned dreamily at the stage, "It's the turning point in his character arch. It's very powerful."

Hmm. That meaning never occurred to Arthur…it made sense though, now that he rethought the lyrics he remembered from it. The Architect and Professor's wife took Philippa and Cobb took James to the bathroom while he pondered over it.

Act Two started with a bang and a wolf attack and then all of the romantic scenes kicked in. Once his character arch was brought to Arthur's attention, it was very clear. The Beast—who was once so selfish—gave Belle an entire library. His newfound softness (or attempts to be soft) caused Belle to stop pulling away. The kids were very impressed when Arthur's name was used from the stage in the song "Something There." (Belle was reading the legend of King Arthur to the Beast). It made the Point Man seem so much cooler to them in a matter of seconds. Since she knew the music from the show back and forth and inside out and in her sleep, Ariadne even knew all the dialogue. It was if she sensed him staring at her because as Belle turned and simpered to the Beast onstage, Ariadne turned and simpered to Arthur knowing he'd listen. In time with the actress she murmured, _Arthur is King_. The Beast may have said it but Arthur repeated in her ear with a glimmer of coyness of his own, _Told you so._

Despite himself, Arthur still found that Ariadne's sparkling, entranced eyes and her mouthing the words to the title song was more engrossing than the ballroom dancing in front of them. Don't misunderstand. He would watch the show but every minute or so (or after every long note or belted key phrase) the Point checked beside him to see her reaction. As a logically inclined human being, Arthur didn't understand why the Beast turning into the Prince was so amazing to her. Sure, James and Pip didn't know any better but Ariadne had to know that he was hooked to a harness and that hydraulics, smoke and mirrors were lifting him up and magically transforming him. It was a glorified, hidden, quick-change but she was glued to it and even acted surprised when they lowered him back down as the handsome, hairless royal. Ariadne hung to every word and look in front of them as if she were down there on the stage or (probably in her imagination) there in the Castle in France. With the actual Beast as the actual Princess.

The cast ended on a melodic, perfectly harmonized high note and received a standing ovation from the crowd upon the curtain call. The four boys were starving; Ariadne, Philippa and Penelope were elated. They headed over to the restaurant with Arthur squished between the gushing females all the way.  
xxxxxx

They had to wait outside for fifteen minutes even with their reservation as the staff got their table ready. It had begun sprinkling so they stood on the cobblestone under the large awning of the Italian eatery. Arthur, Cobb, Miles and Penelope were talking about the plans for the rest of the weekend (which included a lunch planned between Ariadne and Penelope and trip to the museum plus ice cream for all) when they heard Philippa wail, _"Certain as the suuuuuuun. Rising in the eaaaaast!" _

"Sing it, Pip." Ariadne encouraged, waltzing with James on her hip. One of each of their hands clasped together.

The birthday swung her hands around like the conductor of a symphony, _"Tale as old as tiiiiiime, Song as old as rhyyyyyyyme, Beauty and the Beast! OHohOHohOHHHHH." _

The adults collectively hooted and chortled. It was Dom who called to the trio, "James makes a good beast, doesn't he?"

Ariadne dipped the boy, who let his arms go above his head as he giggled, "What are you talking about? James is the beauty; _I'm_ the beast. Obviously."

Arthur's shoulder felt the gentle touch of Mrs. Miles. "Did you enjoy the show, Arthur?" Upon changing focus from the younger woman to the older one, he got suspicious. Why was she looking at him like that? Like this was a trick question. It was resembled the look Pippa loved to grace him with lately. Arthur only gave her one nod, "Yes ma'am, I did."

"Are you sure you saw enough of it?" She leaned in, "Every time I glanced over you were watching little Miss Ariadne."

Arthur stuttered, "I-" He hadn't watched her that much, had he? No, Penelope had the wrong idea. He couldn't help that the show was so poorly put together that Ariadne was more engaging than it. Arthur couldn't be held responsible for the blandness of the show contrasting the dramatics of the Architect in the seat next to him. The group was called inside before he could tell the woman she'd misinterpreted. The cause was lost anyway when she winked, "Your secret is safe with me."  
xxxxxxx

The party was taken to a long table in the back and Pippa was the first to take a seat in the middle on the right side. Ariadne sat to her left and Arthur went to sit to her right but she popped up, "Ari, can we switch?"

"Why?" The Architect narrowed her eyes in an apprehensive look.

"I—" The child hadn't thought that far ahead. Just that she wanted to make the pretty Architect sit next to Uncle Arthur. If they fell in love, then Uncle Arthur would visit more because he would have to come with Aunt Ari and she'd see the both of them all the time. "I want to have room to put my dolls beside me in a chair." That was a good idea! They had singing souvenir dolls for sale in the lobby of the show and each of them had bought her one so she could have a whole collection. Uncle Arthur bought her the Beast, Ariadne gave her Belle, Daddy got Gaston and Papa and Grandma got her Ms. Potts and Chip. She held them bunched in her arms as the prized possessions they were and gave her older friend the puppy dog eyes. Ariadne laughed and got up.

Man, Philippa was so smart.

They switched. First, Ariadne tapped the Point's shoulder, "Mind if I sit next to you?"

"Mm…I don't know…" he fake grimaced, "You might screw up my food. If I see garlic in your possession, I'm moving to the opposite end of the table."

Playfully, his arm was slapped as she took the seat next to him and laid the napkin on her lap. Philippa smiled evilly to herself and sat her Beast and Belle next to each other in the chair holding hands. When she looked up she saw her dad eyeing her. Giving her that 'I know what you're doing but you're cute that I'll let it slide' look. She just opened her crayons and started looking at the kiddie menu. They'd all thank her when Uncle Arthur stopped scowling all the time and Auntie Ari picked up her cardigans more.  
xxxxxx

Now Miles was no expert on Arthur's psyche but he'd only known the boy to open up to three people: Himself, Dominic and Mal. When Arthur took the few classes at the University he scarcely conversed with the other students. If Miles put him in a group, he would speak to them when necessary but preferred to do their conversing online. The Professor was present during the first two jobs Arthur had worked and on neither of them did he form any sort of attachment to his team mates. They were like things he had to tolerate. He'd never known the boy to date. He did speak to women at bars but only rarely and never took or gave a number. The three of them were only able to wheedle out a connection with him because they met him while he was still young and boyish. They taught and molded him; were mentors and father and brother and sister and he felt obligations to them, gratitude towards them. His opinion on Richards was that he was an asshole. Claudette was too chatty, Yusuf was annoying, Eames was intolerable, Maxim was too loud, Barlow was too quiet. Sandy tried to be too friendly. Brett was a know-it-all, Aldo didn't know anything.

But Ariadne….Arthur may not have realized it yet but he liked her. Whether it was generally or more. There were countless things his protégé would say or do that anyone else wouldn't be able to get away with. Not that it shocked Stephen, he'd observed her oblivious effect on the male population in his classroom. If you were a man, you were susceptible to her snarky charm. Ariadne's ability to snag him wasn't the incomprehensible thing here, it was Arthur's _willingness_. The fact that Arthur allowed her to be punchy with him meant that he wanted her to be. Because Arthur never dealt with anything for the sake of someone else's feelings. Anyways, Miles perused the menu. He glanced up over the top of it to see Ariadne inclining into Arthur's space and scanning over his menu, "What are you getting?" Their eyes cut up to each other's and she mocked, "Or is that too personal a question?"

Here again: anyone else…even if Cobb had jibed him like that he would've told him off. He wordlessly turned back to his menu, ran his finger down and stopped mid-page, "Fish Tacos, I believe." That is where conversations with the young rogue would normally end. Stephen looked back down at his menu. Observation hour over.

"You?"

The elderly man's eyes swooped back over the top of his menu. Ariadne's head tilted back and forth before she plucked the laser pointer out of his jacket pocket again. And he _let_ her. _With a simper. _Ariadne used the pointer to glide over the menu and then blinked it on top of the left side. "Open faced, eggs benedict sandwich."

"Eggs at eight-thirty at night?"

She nodded proudly, "Breakfast for dinner is my absolute favorite."

Arthur took a sip of his tea, "I thought Sonny's barbecue was your favorite?"

"Sonny's is _your _favorite."

How on God's good earth did Ariadne know Arthur's favorite anything? Arthur chuckled. Arthur bloody well _chuckled_ at her and took the pointer back. "It is." They retreated to viewing their own menus so Miles retreated back down to his. _Bewildered._  
xxxxxx

Dinner was enjoyed and dessert was ordered. Sundaes for Ariadne and the children, peach cobbler for Miles, cheesecake for Cobb and Penelope and for Arthur, crème brulee. James played his Nintendo DS while he waited and the little girl busied herself by coloring, "Look Ariadne! I drew me and a prince." The Architect tore her attention from Miles' discussion about the NSA and looked over it. "I named him Trevor."

"How cute." Ariadne heartened. It was more or less a stick figure with red hair, a crown and a cape but he held a sword to the dragon Philippa was riding like a horse so it was imaginative enough, "I like his hair."

"Want me to draw you one?"

Before the Architect could reply, Arthur droned, "Philippa…" Then he nudged Ariadne's shoulder, "Don't let her head fill up with all that prince stuff. That's not an option in the real world. Happy endings are near impossible."

He got tapered eyes and an annoyed twist of her mouth, "You know, I think you'd be happier—or at least more enjoyable—if you let yourself believe in all the fairytale stuff." She almost turned her head away from him but came back like she forgot something, "And dropped that '_impossible_' word from your vocabulary. You use it too much."

"It's nonsensical." Arthur acted as if the notion was incomprehensible. He austerely attempted to break it to Philippa, "True love doesn't exist. Hard work, intelligence and perseverance does. It's silliness to fall in love." Then Arthur warned the Architect herself, "I wouldn't go looking for it."

"When you're not looking for it is when it happens, smart one," explained the woman with a smug visage, "That's why they call it _falling _instead of jumping_. _Say what you want non-believer but you'll wake up one day and just feel it. Like: 'crap, Ariadne and Pippa were right.'" She smiled down at Philippa and they fist-bumped, "Then you'll owe us donuts." The little girl giggled.

Arthur chided, "I doubt it," and was drawn away from the argument to help James win his Mario-Kart race.

"Don't listen to him. Draw a prince for me." Oh, young Phillipa knew exactly what Auntie Ari's prince would look like. She was gonna draw him with gelled hair, a tie, shiny shoes and a red dice. The little girl heard what the Parisian said about falling. If she had it her little way? Her and James were gonna figure out how to push them off.

But where was that cliff everyone did it from?

xxxxxxx

He didn't know why but ever since she'd walked down the stairs that night, she'd been the most fascinating person. Ok, she was fascinating long before…but—Was it because the more time he spent with her the more three dimensional she became? Arthur couldn't bring himself to stop looking over at her and when he wasn't looking at her, he was thinking about her. It was unnerving to say the least. The more he learned, the more he wanted to know. "Ariadne, would you tell me one of your Greek stories before bed?" Everyone convened in the Cobbs' living room. Stephen, Penelope, Ariadne, Arthur and Cobb had coffee and let Philippa and James play around with her new toys. Then around eleven, it was decided they'd stayed up too long and it was time to wind down.

James gasped at Philippa's question, "I want a story too!"

"You two leave Ariadne alone," Dom ruffled James' hair (he sat in his lap almost asleep).

The Architect shook her head, "No its fine. I can tell you both one. But you have to be in your pj's with brushed teeth before I am."

The little girl reached for her brother's hand and nodded sleepy but excitedly, "We will!"

"Whoever wins gets to play with Uncle Arthur's laser pointer tomorrow." Ariadne smiled mischievously out of the corner of her eye at him. "But you can't run at all, especially up the stairs or you lose automatically."

Cobb sighed, "Say goodnight to your grandparents, first."

The two children hugged and kissed their beloved Papa and Grandma then stood in front of Ariadne expectantly. Leaning forward with elbows on her knees towards them she asked if they were ready, "Pret?"

"Pret," Philippa confirmed with one nod.

Then she asked if they were set, "Feu?"

"Feu!" James jumped with his hands above his head.

"Aller, Aller!" Go, go! She swatted jokingly at their little tushes and hurried them up to their bedrooms in French. The adults had a good laugh and all stood to bid Miles and his wife goodnight. They turned in relatively early. Penelope confirmed a time to wake up and head out to lunch with Ariadne in the morning so the Architect could set a timer on her phone. After that, while the two elders were pre-occupied in a last conversation with Cobb, Arthur posed with arms across his chest against the railing of the stairs. "You didn't seriously just promise them my laser pointer."

Her eyes flew upward (had they been that caramel color before?) in thought, "I think I did…"

"What is it with you and that thing?" He asked incredulously.

"It's mesmerizing, ok?" His eyebrows rose. There were so many things on earth more enthralling than the pointer in his pocket. For example, the way she bit her lip just then. "There are so many things you can do with it: Point at things, pretend to be a sniper…" She paused. Making her case was more of a struggle than she anticipated, "point at other things…"

"Well then you best get changed and brush your teeth if you're going to beat them." He demanded in his Point Man voice but it made little impact.

Ariadne looked utterly offended at his disregard for small people's feelings, "And crush the hopes and dreams of two children?" Then she shook her head in refusal, "Not gonna happen."

Penelope caught the glare from the doorway of her and Mile's guest room (in Cobb and Mal's old study) complete with the flare of his nostrils and the deep, "I despise you…" She looked for the girl's reaction and found that she beamed a shit eating grin up at him while she strutted to the staircase. "No you don't."

No, the sad thing was he really didn't. The more time together accumulated the farther from despising her he got. She didn't look at him again. Ariadne climbed the stairs with her back to him, "Besides if they break it I'll buy you another one."

At the bottom of the steps he retorted, "Perhaps I'm emotionally attached to _this_ specific pointer."

Ariadne stopped at the top and turned with a smirk. Wisps of hair were falling out of her chignon, her lipstick worn off from eating, barefoot and dangling her heels from her hand. And it was strange because he thought she looked lovelier than she had when they left for the show, all done up and primped to standard. "_You_? Emotionally attached?" She snorted as she went and he frowned as he watched her go.

Penelope was right at his ear in seconds with, "She'd be surprised wouldn't she?"  
xxxxxxx

James got his story first because he was younger and needed to be in bed sooner. That had conveniently beat Ariadne at being ready for bed. Cobb and Arthur sat downstairs aimlessly talking about how big the kids had gotten, Arthur's recent jobs and the Miles' new residence. Dom's bedroom was downstairs but Arthur's guest room (a blown up bed in the gym room so that Ariadne could have the real guest room) was upstairs and his laptop and feather pillows were calling to him. Tip-toeing so he wouldn't wake anyone up, he halted, hearing whispers indicating that the Architect and little girl were still awake. "Uncle Arthur gave me this love note for you."

"Oh, really?"

Was it possible for blood to freeze over? Because that's what his had done. How could she have a love note? He'd never written one. What if Pip typed it up and Ariadne believed it?! Ariadne's words put him to much welcomed rest, "His handwriting looks way different when he uses crayon."

"Yeah…" the girl lilted, "crayon is hard to write with. I wouldn't judge him."

The Parisian criticized, "He spelled adorable wrong…and his own name."

Philippa's tone hit that high pitch that signifies lying, "They say love is blindness."

Arthur thanked every invisible force that Ariadne didn't buy it. How horrible would it have been to wake up in the morning to Ariadne's blushing face holding up the note and gazing at him expectantly? His worst nightmare come true. "Philippa, I think _you _wrote this."

"No!" adamantly defended the child. There was hesitation. Ariadne must've given her a hard stare and broken her down, "James wrote it; I told him what to say." Arthur shook his head.

Sighing, Ariadne admitted, "Look, I think it's super cute and essentially pretty funny that you're a nine year old matchmaker but all you're doing is making Uncle Arthur and I feel uncomfortable around each other."

"I am?!" Philippa's gasp was so loud and devastated he heard it clearly in the hallway and had to shoot a cautious glance at James' bedroom door to make sure she hadn't woken him. "Oh no. Are you mad at me?" Was Ariadne mad? It was off-putting but Arthur wouldn't say he was angry at her for it. She was a child who didn't know any better yet. The Parisian seemed to agree, "No, sweetie, I just think you should stop."

"I'm sorry. I just don't want him to be lonely." The utter honesty and concern in Pippa's next statement was so pure and open that Arthur tensed from head to toe. "I feel like he wouldn't frown as much if he loved you. Cause me and James don't frown as much since _we_ started loving you."

The Architect cooed softly, "Aw, that's sweet of you." Everything about her voice changed when she regarded the Point Man however. "But I don't think he's lonely and even if he was, I'm not the girl for him."

_Why not? _ Where'd that come from?

Relentless, this child was. She forged on, "But you're perfect for each other! You're like Prince Charming and Cinderella…"

"No, we're like Prince Charming and the Ugly Stepsister," Ariadne argued as steadfastly as the blonde. Was it because he refused to answer Pippa's question about her earlier? Did Ariadne believe he thought her ugly and that was why he had no interest? Arthur was in no way that shallow. He was just a professional. And cautious.

"But you're not ugly."

"Not to you."

"Not to_ anyone," _huffed Philippa, getting annoyed and heated, "Not even Uncle Arthur, he's just a stupid scared-y cat and won't say it." Out of the mouth of babes comes the truth, they say. Did Arthur feel guilty? Was that that sour, unpleasant feeling in his gut? "You should fall in love."

Ariadne took on an uncompromising, firm nature, "Well to quote him: 'It's impossible.' Your Uncle and I are either friends or absolutely nothing. I'd rather we be friends, wouldn't you."

Defeated, the girl agreed, "Yeah…I guess."  
xxxxxxx

He may have been able to hear Ariadne's tv through the walls when she retired to her own room. And he may have been waiting for her to give in and pad down to the kitchen. So when he detected the sounds of her exiting her quarters, he waited exactly forty five seconds and followed her down. She was in the process of cutting off a slice of leftover birthday cake when he appeared behind her in the kitchen. "Midnight snack?"

"Yeah, I'm watching cupcake wars in my room and absolutely needed a piece of cake," confessed the woman, plopping a heap on a paper plate and sucking some icing off her finger. "Want a slice?"

"Nah," he declined, "Came down for water. One dessert a night is enough for me." After opening the fridge and noting the content, he added in afterthought, "Would you like some milk with that?"

Over the crackle of the plastic top closing over the Tupperware was Ariadne's eager, "Milk would be awesome." The Parisian didn't think he'd do more than set out the carton and a glass for her but he started pouring the beverage for her as soon as he poured his own. Another thing she didn't think he would do was address an earlier issue out of the blue, "You looked very appealing—uh—pretty—tonight by the way."

Ariadne used the excuse of searching for a fork in the drawer to hide her conflict on how to respond and its effects on her face. When she could allow the silence no longer, she pulled the utensil and stuck it in her slice of cake. "You don't have to say that."

"No, I wanted to earlier. I just didn't want Philippa to get the wrong idea and encourage her efforts. That was my reason for hesitating." Now he savored his own excuse to hide his face in the fridge while he put both the milk carton and water pitcher away. She rubbed her arm and looked around the kitchen purposelessly when there were no more excuses to hide behind. "Well thanks." Just like that she grabbed her plate and glass and traipsed her way back to the staircase.

"And Ariadne?" The Architect hummed one foot on the floor and one on the first stair. Eyes dully meeting his. "I'm glad you and I are friends." Nodding feebly, Ariadne retreated back to her room.

It was like she didn't believe him or something…

xxxxxxx

Okie doke. The next chapter will be the last chapter together with the Cobbs in LA so make your vote count!  
**Voting Time again**! Would you rather **A)** Have the museum day with everyone and some more small moments between A/A like during lunch break or **B)** The lunch with Penelope where a conversation about Arthur comes up and we get a better understanding of what Ariadne's feeling towards him/ arts and crafts with the kids together. **If 'B': **Throw out some questions you want Penelope to slip in and I'll pick one or two to incorporate if it wins. 

**Chapter Song**: Something There from Beauty and the Beast Original Broadway Soundtrack.

**STORY ELABORATIONS: **Ariadne's dress for the show, Philippa's costume and birthday cake (with wrong number. It says 3 instead of 9 dangitt) are all on my profile. The link doesn't take you to a website or anything, it just opens the picture itself in another window.


	9. Possibility

Reviewers get gratitude cake!_  
Lauraa-x: _Pip is a small evil mastermind. Thanks for the question suggestions. I answer quite a few but they're not necessarily directly asked…;) _numbah435spiritsong: _Philippa is pretty adamant that they'll fall in love. She ships them like all of us…hahaha. Thanks for writing in._ Guest: _Lol ok.

Yo _msakiki _you're a super cool dude/chick for favoriting and following.  
_janejj00: _Glad you enjoy and/or hate it enough to fave and follow too. Thanks.  
And _Kdaly0803: _Cookies for favoriting.

**Chapter 9: Possibility**

Ariadne had been craving Mel's Drive-In something fierce ever since their plane landed. In good nature, Penelope decided to take her there for their luncheon. Ariadne had won the bet based on Arthur's picture after all. Their waitress had sat them in a booth right in the center of the restaurant, where all the 50's and 60's memorabilia was clearly visible. Ariadne stared at the jukebox while she waited for the woman across from her to finish perusing the menu. The Architect had always appreciated vintage themes and trinkets so she was anything but bored, studying the posters on the wall and checkered tiles.

Without warning, Mrs. Miles laid down the menu and interrupted the Architect's admiration. "It's nice to get out of the house isn't it? I was beginning to think James and Philippa would never leave you be."

"I really don't mind; they give me an excuse to act like a kid again," rejoined Ariadne, coincidentally locking eyes with a child drawing a few tables over and offering a smile. That special one everyone uses on strangers.

"Now I know we live in the same city," Penelope smoothed out her paper placemat and clasped her hands atop it, "but we rarely get to converse other than small comments through Stephen." The younger Parisian nodded. "So, what exactly have you been up to since graduation?"

Succeeding a sip of Ariadne's Shirley Temple was, "Well you know I'm a TA for Miles a lot…Um..." her index finger flew up in remembrance of interesting events she could state, "I interned at a firm in Marseilles for three months back in June, right after grad. And I transferred to one in Vanves but I work there seasonally because I've been trying to get back into…" the woman hesitated. It's not like Miles was blind to what she skipped town for weeks on end for. But maybe dreaming wasn't a joyful subject because of Mal. "Traveling."

"Is that what they call it these days?" One of Penelope's eyebrows slipped into an arch. It was more playful than reproving. Before Ariadne could react, the waitress appeared to take their order. Penelope charmingly requested the Sunset Burger with a tossed salad and ranch dressing on the side. It sounded much more sophisticated than Ariadne asking for the Rebel Rouser Dog but she reasoned it wasn't her fault. Her meal just had a sillier name. Seizing the opportunity for a change of subject (and of spotlight), the Architect turned the questions around. "How are you and Professor Miles liking the new house?"

Penelope shone like the brightest of day as she began gushing. She had a natural cheerfulness about her and fluent way of expressing her opinions avidly. Ariadne liked to think she'd be something like her when she reached that age. Not that she was old…apparently seventy was the new fifty, so. "It's just delightful, Ariadne, I can't even begin to express how pleasing it is. We had too much space before." The French use a vast array of gestures anyway but Penelope used them exponentially more-so. Sometimes the Architect wondered if the true version of Mal inherited certain traits and mused what it would've been like to sit across from Cobb's late wife instead of his mother-in-law. Mallory seemed too elegant for Ariadne in her imagination but they could've been good friends. Maybe. She got along with Penelope Miles well enough. "The commute is a bit farther for Stephen but he's a morning person anyway and with all the money we're saving on the mortgage, the cost of transportation isn't bad."

"I've seen pictures." Yes, the Architect's inbox still harbored an email with attached photos of a pale yellow townhome in Montreuil. "It's perfect for the two of you."

A warm, wrinkly hand patted one of Ariadne's cold and smooth ones, "We're having an official housewarming party in a few weeks. I want you to come if you're in town."

"I'd love to," Ariadne nodded enthusiastically. Her enthusiasm would have lacked its fizz if she foresaw the conversation turning back to her life. She hated talking about herself. Since graduation, she hadn't done anything monumentally great with her degree, not where the real world was concerned. She had few friends, she spent her weekends in her flat watching Bates' Motel or Cupcake Wars. The Architect just wasn't that interesting. It bored _her _to talk about herself, she'd much rather learn all the fascinating things about everyone else.

"So any beaus?"

The dreaded boy question. Every female she encountered was unwaveringly intrigued with her love-life. Or lack thereof. Ariadne didn't deem the inquiry worthy of explanation anymore. Explanations like: 'Well I'm so busy I don't really have time for a relationship.' Or 'I like being single'. Or 'What is wrong with you? It's the 21st century, a woman can be independent of a man and be content. Leave me alone, mother.' It got to where her reflexive response to any form of that question was a thinly lined mouth and shake of the head.

Penelope scoffed, "Oh come on. You mean to tell me some fine man hasn't snatched you up yet?"

As if a woman—a living 4-6 foot (give or take some inches) being—could be snatched up. As if a woman would _want _to be snatched up like a half priced blender on Black Friday. No thank you. It was like they (her mom, aunts, cousins, school friends, Penelope) all read from the same book. Or met in a secret club dedicated to finding Ariadne a man…if they did, they better at least have t-shirts with her face on it to make it up to her. Ariadne replied with pursed lips this time and one shouldered shrug, "I'm not looking to be snatched right now. I haven't had a boyfriend since Sophomore year at Sarbonne U."

"Engineering major?" injected the elderly woman dreamily. Like she could picture Ariadne and a handsome suitor studying together.

"Writing, actually," corrected Ariadne, "He worked for one of the local journals." Thinking about him was nostalgic. Took her back to her early years in France, where everything was still new and adventurous but way less scary with a year under her belt. Eyes cast on her glass, the young girl let a grin slip, "Trevor...He was such a goofball."

"If you don't mind me asking," The Architect realized her memory induced smile had spread to Mrs. Miles' face when she looked up to regard her, "How did it end?"

Ariadne wasn't broken up over Trevor in the least. That was clear by her 'oh well, that's life' attitude while she stirred around her refill of Shirley Temple, head swaying side to side, "He got a job offer in Liverpool as a secondary editor and I was up to my eyeballs in school. It was mutual though, it got to the point where we were such good friends, it felt like I was dating my brother and that was weird."

A vibration sounded through the table and caused the Professor's wife to check her phone before responding, "Good, it wasn't one of those messy break-ups."

"No," The Architect blurted out a laughter, like a bubblegum bubble being popped, "You wanna hear a messy break up? You should know about my Junior year in high school."

"Oh no…" said Penelope, drinking down some lemonade.

With her 'get ready for this' look firmly planted on her face, Ariadne indulged in her companion's listening ear, "My boyfriend—_Andrew_—cheated on me with my best friend. Because her boobs were bigger. He told me so…" Penelope's disgusted scowl screamed that she would've loved to have vengeance on the boy. Ariadne smirked because _she _did, "My brother, our friend Nathan and I TP'ed his house and my dad took a baseball bat to his Chevy. And well…obviously me and Christy weren't friends Senior Year."

Penelope clicked her tongue, "Before I met Stephen, I was in a serious relationship with my high school sweetheart, Marvin."

"He already sounds like jerk…" inserted Ariadne.

Chuckling, the former nodded, "Yes. Right before we were fixing to move in together, he told me I was gaining too much weight and he'd been seeing a waitress from our favorite café for 2 years."

All Ariadne could bring herself to do after that was groan.

"High school…" shook the elder's head solemnly.

"High school." Ariadne rolled her eyes.

After a few minutes respite from recalling old flames, after the bitter taste of young love gone awry settled out of their mouths, Penelope's side salad came out. Ariadne wasn't one to cut lettuce so she watched her older friend do so with concentration. As she drizzled the dressing over the leaves, Penelope re-addressed the Architect, "Well no beaus but is there anyone you're interested in?"

Ariadne felt awkward having nothing to do while the other was busy prepping food and eating, so she bunched her hands in her lap and fiddled with the ends of her shirt, "I mean, there's a man I see every Thursday on the Metro that I shamefully stare at but other than that…" Honestly, the Architect hadn't been too hungry before but Penelope's salad looked so mouth-watering, she found herself eyeing it with envy. And giving the kitchen a glare to hurry up with her meal. You could tell how indifferent Ariadne was to having a boyfriend; her stomach was the only thing on her mind.

Penelope's chewing was taunting her especially the crunch of the croutons. "Have you—" here, Mrs. Miles paused everything she was doing to dab her napkin at the corner of her mouth and ensure: "And I'm not accusing or suggesting anything when I ask this. I'm just curious—" That broke Ariadne's lustful stare at the bowl of greens across the table. That was a dangerous sounding sentence. Her blink was a form of silent encouragement for Penelope to keep going. "Have you ever thought about you and Arthur?"

If it were physically possible for eyebrows to fly off your face with the force of being pushed so high, so fast—Ariadne's would've been sailing through the air. The Architect fumbled for an answer. She didn't have one ready because she didn't know the answer herself. Had she thought about her and Arthur? Vaguely. In the beginning, probably. Of course she had lately but that was because two small blonde children were trying to shove the idea down her throat. "Philippa makes it hard not to," she hoped that was answer enough. The expectant look casually tossed over a now untouched salad told Ariadne it wasn't. What could she say but the truth? That was all that came to mind. "I don't see us being compatible. Which is a good thing because Arthur would never." Perfect. End of conversation hopefully.

"What if he were more open about things?" With Penelope's focus back on her salad, Ariadne felt ten times more comfortable. "If he expressed an interest, would you consider it?" And then ten times more confused. If Arthur was open, if he was human. If he suddenly did all those things suitors did…guiding her with his hand on her lower back, holding her hand, kissing her forehead, calling her beautiful with a simmer and sparkle in his dark chocolate eyes…would she be opposed? No. Would she like it? The girl chewed on her lip and began to nod slowly, getting used to the awful idea that her infatuation from the Fischer job wasn't entirely extinguished yet. "Yeah." Uttering it out loud cemented the notion and made her feel like she'd just confessed to a gross sin. Surely Arthur would think of it that way if he ever caught a whiff of it. Penelope smiled knowingly, like she knew how Ariadne was going to respond. It made Ariadne want to wipe it off her face because she had no idea how Ariadne truly felt, how complicated things were. Ariadne huffed, "I mean I have a pulse and Arthur's a good looking man. Who wouldn't consider it?"

Annoyed she was. At literally everything in the world (the napkin holder, the people at the barstools, the actual barstools, the jukebox that played modern music instead of vintage, modern music, the man who passively glanced at her on his way to his table from the bathroom, Penelope and her crunchy croutons, her silverware, the wait staff for taking so damn long with her hot dog) even though it was none of their faults she had to ponder this because it was brought up and her mind couldn't let it go. Particularly because some of them were inanimate objects. "Let's be realistic though. We would never happen. It's a struggle to get to him to treat me as a friend…I can't imagine how _exhausting_ it would be to be in a romantic relationship with him. I'd keel over from the exertion." Ariadne was the one who asked (she had to _freakin'_ _ask) _for them to be friends. And since then, she was the one who made all the efforts. She was the first one to attempt to joke, usually the only one to offer a smile. Her life around him was a constant walk on eggshells in fear she would offend him so highly he'd never talk to her again. She skirted around the stupidest topics just in case he misunderstood her for flirting and avoided her. Because lord knows, the man never talked to a person about an issue, he just assumed and got weird. Ariadne kept a ten foot pole's distance away from the discussion of his family (which is why she compensated and divulged about hers so often), she danced around compliments (wouldn't put it past him to take 'I like the color of your tie' or 'you type so fast' as declarations of undying passion for him) and she never, ever touched him longer than 1.3 seconds with exceptions of handshakes because they take a little longer. And that time she cried at her parent's house but that was a fluke. Normal friends hugged. Normal people hug. Acquaintances hug. Parents hug their children, siblings hug one another, there is nothing in a hug that says 'marry me' unless you accompany it with those words. Or unless you're Arthur—whatever his last name is. But Ariadne guessed it was symbol of some form of care…so of course that was scratched off Arthur's list.

Penelope pushed her bowl away, having cleared the contents out, and sufficiently wiped her mouth off again, "Oh, it wouldn't be that bad."

"He told me he was glad we were friends last night—because he felt bad about something Philippa brought about earlier—" Getting worked up with the fuel of debate, Ariadne leaned her arms on the table, "And I could tell it actually physically pained him to say it." Her head tilted, "It would take centuries to get him to say 'I love you' if he ever said it and that's if we lasted that long. I'd be baffled if we lasted fifteen minutes." See, there was no doubt in Ariadne's mind that Arthur's open admittance the night before was an act of guiltiness because of his silence when Pippa asked if she was pretty. He must have been such a conflicted person. Not personally caring or wishing to make her feel better because of his cold persona but his upbringing and gentlemanliness forcing him to. Thinking of him as a significant other, not just potentially hers but anyone's, any woman ever, was borderline unfathomable. Ariadne recalled that scene down in Cobb's subconscious, the first thing she saw as the elevator slowed to a stop: Dom and Mal with their fingers intertwined like an invisible force was about to rip them apart, their foreheads pressed against each other's, her whispers putting the Extractor in a trance. The Architect remembered briefly the sight in his subconscious' basement. The hotel room looking like disaster had struck it (well it had), broken glass, sheer ivory fabric billowing by the open window. A shade circling around Ariadne making her stomach clench with insurmountable fear. _Do you know what it's like to be a lover? _No. Not through personal experience but she could hazard a guess.

Her mom and dad were high school sweethearts. She'd watched them fight, heard them talk of a waning flame and possible separation but she'd also witnessed the quiet way her dad would gaze at her mom: opening her anniversary present, bringing her coffee in the morning. She heard the murmured, 'I love you's and 'everything's going to be ok, I won't leave you's from the hallway of the hospital while her mom sat dutifully by her husband's side. Penelope and Stephen were examples too. Her in her seventies, Miles heading into the eighties. They'd been together forty nine years. Through ups and downs, through their daughter's life and death, through separation so that the Professor could keep his job and his wife could take care of their grandchildren. When they were together, they rarely said anything. Not because they didn't know or were afraid of what they wanted to say. Not because certain matters were taboo or too personal or too impersonal. But because they didn't need to talk. They had whole conversations with their eyes alone and squeezes of their wrinkly hands and scrunches of their noses.

Lovers were more than intimate partners. They were halves of wholes who understood the other half inside out and took them for everything they were and weren't. They were comfortable in not only their own skin but the other's too. They ruined each other but they built each other right back up again. Somehow, she couldn't see the Point man capable of that. Any of it. How could they understand each other when she knew little more about him than the stranger standing in line at the door. Arthur walked nice and dressed sharp, his face gave her butterflies and his voice was smooth and crisp and made her whole body warm but could she love him? Half the time he was hard to like. And even if she could, could _he_ love _her_ back? Was it in his capacity? Did he know how? He would be too proud to try if he didn't.

"I'm the kind of person that wears my heart on my sleeve. I need someone who emotes. Who shares my passionate outlook on things, who gets me. Not a Tin Man." Ariadne added for further emphasis. She wished everyone would stop bugging her about Arthur and Arthur about her. She had pretty much convinced herself that he was a conceited robot with a stick up his arse and they would never in a million years have a chance and now people were flattering her imagination and giving it wild ideas. Ariadne didn't want that crush back. She was proud of herself for getting rid of it. Where was her freakin food?! There needed to be a break in this conversation. A migraine was coming at her full force.

Ariadne's saving grace came in the form of their plump waitress, Myra and her piping hot, chili dripping, hot dog. While Penelope—again much more refined than Ariadne—exclaimed her delight with bright smiles and positive compliments about the burger set in front of her, The Architect bit back her fiery hatred for the world and every invisible force that had to do with feelings and fought not to snatch (there's that word again. Could you imagine a woman being snatched like) her chili cheese bun of comfort off the tray and eat the confusion away. To her credit, her outer visage copied that of Mrs. Miles.

"You may want to watch the Wizard of Oz again, Dear." Ariadne questioned with her eyes while chewing her food (she told herself the faster she chewed, the more the friction would burn off the warts in her mind that kept considering being in a couple with Mr. Impossible.) "The Tin Man wanted to love more than any of them. He just didn't think he could."

xxxxxxx

"Do you really have to go?" Philippa stood at the front door in her worn out Tweety Bird pajamas and whined. It took a lot of bribing, scolding, prying and compromising to make the kids sleep in their own beds on Ariadne's last night. They both wanted to stay in her room with her so they could be together as long as possible. Arthur thought it was entirely ridiculous. The two Miles' and the Architect had to be at the airport at eight that morning so they rose at six-thirty. (Ariadne with scores more difficulty). All adults hoped they could get out of the house while the children were still asleep (Stephen, Penelope and Ari all left notes for them and said goodbye before bed) but Philippa set her clock and woke up with Ariadne. Even pitifully sat on the stairs, half dozing off, while they packed the car and ate breakfast.

Ariadne slipped her shoes on, throwing a look at Dom that said she felt so bad about leaving. Maybe Pippa's eyelashes had no effect on Ariadne but her sad, watering, orbs did. The Architect supposed she could classify herself as a heartbreaker now. "Yes but I'll be back soon, I promise."

The blonde buried her face into the Parisian's side, "Will you come with Papa and Grandma for Thanksgiving?"

"We'll see," 'Help' written all over Ariadne's face. Cobb came to the rescue. Since Arthur was kind enough to pick them up from the airport, Dom said he would take them back. "All set?"

"No!" That didn't help. It made it worse. Pippa squeezed Ariadne tighter. Penelope and Miles were smarter that Cobb and decided to distract the little girl, "Pippa, why don't you walk us to the car?" Peeking out from the fabric of Ariadne's jacket, Philippa decided she couldn't be mean to her grandparents and ignore them, so she took their hands and led them out sulkily.

Sighing with relief, Ariadne joked (sort of) to Cobb, "Get me out of here before James wakes up. I can't say no to him, you'd never get rid of me."

Dom snickered, "After you."

The last two days of her trip (the day of her and Penny's lunch and the day after), Arthur noticed that the Architect started treating him strangely. Ironically, it was no different than how he typically treated her on the job but they weren't working and Ariadne wasn't Arthur. In the least. He could only link it to his poor behavior the night of the show and the children's ministrations. As she left, Ariadne turned to the Point Man leaning on the wall by the coat rack and provided a wave before trotting out the door. And that was that. After teaching her about dreams and paradoxes and an impossible job gone right, after deviled eggs and funerals, after shopping for crowns and fighting over laser pointers and suffering through a little girl's delusional matchmaking attempts together…he got a wave. A wave and that's it? James got a better farewell and that was saying something because he was upstairs asleep.

Dom ordered Philippa to go back inside with Uncle Arthur. "But daddy!" He insisted she could watch them drive away from the window. With one last hug to everyone she obediently but sullenly dragged her feet back into the house. Despite doing nothing wrong, it was Ariadne's nature to feel bad about making James and Philippa feel that way. But she also didn't want to overstay her welcome. Dom closed the trunk and jogged around to the front while Penelope settled in her seat and Miles opened the passenger side. Ariadne shifted her backpack off her shoulder as Dom opened her door for her—wait Dom was in the driver's seat.

"Were you not going to say goodbye to me?" The Point Man stood stiff, holding the door in its place. Was he being serious, or facetious or sarcastic? Was she in trouble? His stupid poker mask made it unmanageable to figure out how to respond. She went for looking how she felt: lost to his point.

"I waved." Over her shoulder as she threw her backpack into the floorboard, Arthur's tenor was heard, "Half-heartedly. We're friends aren't we?"

Life. Life. Life. Life. Ariadne hated life. How could Arthur be closed off 99.9 percent of the time and it be acceptable but give her two days of avoiding him like the plague and she felt like the biggest jerk in the world? Hypocrite. The backpack plopped into the backseat before she returned his gaze…Who knew eyebrows could be attractive? The Architect's head tilted and everything came full circle. The same faraway smile that greeted him at the airport bid him adieu, here. "Bye Arthur." When he stared at her raised palm puzzled, she explained, "High five. Friends don't hand shake, they high five."

"Let's compromise," Ariadne's rolled eyes told him was he was trying to figure out. Whether she was sick of him because of his refusal of anything sociable or not. She was. With all the seriousness in the world, he panned, "Could we five shake?"

Her hand faltered in its height and her head tilted more, brows slightly creased, "What?" Simpering, the Point Man high fived her as requested then held onto her hand and shook it up and down.

"You're weird."

Sensing attention, Arthur dropped her hand. "Goodbye Ariadne." But before shutting her door all the way, he leaned his head in, "Do you still have those numbers?"

Cobb thought he was so sly, eavesdropping by means of the rearview mirror. Did the others really believe Ariadne and Arthur wouldn't notice the void of conversation in the rest of the car? The Architect nodded at him then he spoke to the entire party , "You all fly safe."

Later that day when Arthur was helping Dom clean out the trash and vacuum in the guest rooms, he found a crumpled up note in the Architect's bin. The stationary was flowery—cartoon instead of actual floral—and blue crayon was marked all over it. It was the love letter Pippa (and James) tried to trick Ariadne with. It read:

_Deer_ (here 'Airyaddnee' and 'Areaddny' were crossed out) _Ari,_

_I think ur adorabull and pritty and reelly smart. I _(here 'luv' was crossed out. Probably because Philippa corrected James' spelling) _love u alot. Lets get marreed. _

_Love, Arther. _

Xxxxxxx

Ariadne paused Netlflix, moved the bag of powdered donuts from her lap and reluctantly answered her phone. Who the hell was Javier (pronounced Havee-air) Tutsi? The girl really should monitor the contacts her friends force her to add when they take her to the bar. She wasn't in the mood for conversations today so she was curt to make it quick, "Bonjour?"

"Bonjour, Architect."

The caller was none other than the clear toned Point Man. Oh yeah, Ariadne had forgotten she added his different numbers into her phone under crazy names to make him seem more festive a person. And so Edith, Clarisse and Madeline wouldn't ask about all the Arthur's when they flipped through her phone. If anything they'd praise her for the array of exotic men she was supposedly in contact with: Michelangelo LaFruffru, Bon Quo Quo Jumanji, Yoshi Ching Chang, Bart Simpson and George Clooney (just because) and Arthur for the one he claimed to use most frequently.

She would wonder how he got _her_ number since she never gave him contact information in return but he's Arthur. It probably took him two clicks and a blink to figure it out. Ariadne sniffled and sat straighter. He must be calling to offer her a job and that would be the uplifting news she needed right now, "Arthur? What's up?"

"Just checking how you're doing. I know what today is."

"I'm—" Wait, he knew it was Alex's birthday? Of course he did. The Parisian wished she could tell him she was doing wonderful. That she wasn't watching sad movies about siblings, stuffing her face and pitying her loss. That she wasn't acting pathetic and cursing all the happy people in the planet. Ariadne sighed, "I miss him. It's been ten months." And then bitter about her vulnerability, she chided, "You'd think I'd be used to the idea by now."

"It'll take a long time to get used to." Then Arthur realized how that sounded. Pessimism came so easily to him, he didn't think before he spoke. He didn't call to depress her further so Arthur tried to smooth it over and give her some hope. "You'll always miss him but it'll get easier." That was halfway uplifting, right? He wasn't sure. The whole optimism thing was new.

"I hope you're right."

Arthur heard the sniffle and hated her despondency. Ariadne was supposed to cheerily pick her chin up and say 'Yeah, you're right! I'll get through this. Hardy-Har.' Instead the one remotely positive thing he could find to say, she didn't wholly believe. He assured, involuntarily becoming the know-it-all, "I _am_ right. I know from experience. My mo—" Whoa. Hold on. No more information needed to be delved into. Arthur bit his tongue. Her end of the phone stayed silent and static. For once she didn't ask questions. It was really enjoyable until the Point realized she hadn't made a peep because she was trying to cry without him hearing. Arthur sucked at consolation. Why'd he call again? The girl sounded better off when she answered the phone than after his supposed encouragement. Finally, he thought to hell with it all and told her anyway. Shared his own grief, "My mother died about five years ago."

It worked. Ariadne's gasp interrupted the little hiccups of breath, "Arthur, I'm so sorry. What from?" He should've expected it to tumble from her mouth. But for a change, she quietly retracted, "Shit, I'm—. You don't have to answer that."

He was this far in, he might as well, "Breast cancer. I was on an extraction job in New Dehli when she passed." Arthur hadn't talked about it since it happened. Cobb and Mal knew she had cancer and he informed them of the funeral but nothing else. Soon as it passed his lips, it was cathartic. He wanted to talk about it. And what's more, he wanted _her _to know. He wanted her to know this piece of him. Maybe he'd seem more humanoid to her, more relatable. "I saw her two months before and she was doing fine so I left but when I went back—" The end of the story was self-explanatory. Ariadne had once asked him why he spent more time with the Cobb family than he did his own. He shut her down by curtly responding that he didn't talk about his family especially with nosy coworkers. He wanted to make up for his rudeness now, "I don't talk about family because I don't have one. The Cobbs are the closest I have."

More empathy released from her. At least her loss was forgotten in the moment and that made the stinging memories worth it, "Did your dad—"

Oh he despised discussing his overbearing father, "We were never close. He wanted me to take over the law firm and I got involved in illegal mind theft. You can imagine what that did for our relationship."

"Wow," exclaimed the woman, "he knows what you do?"

Arthur pursed his lips though she couldn't see it and droned begrudgingly, "And hates it. He's disowned me. I don't visit and he doesn't call. No love lost."

It was quiet again for a bit. He hoped she hadn't sunken back into her sadness. He was on a roll. Then again, he may have succeeded in disheartening the girl more. Ariadne lilted guilty when she opened up the conversation again "…You know I haven't called my parents since we were there?"

"I'm not ordering you around when I say that you most definitely _should_."

Ariadne groaned and Arthur could picture her scowl, "I know. It's just hard. I deal with it by not dealing with it."

Arthur shook his head to himself, "See, that's how _I _do things." Then he persuaded promisingly, "You're not a robot like me. Call them."

She hummed, "I'll think about it." Her voice sounded nasally now. The crying had stuffed her sinuses up. Even though he caused her to cry maybe she'd needed it. Another release like the one back home during the funeral. Maybe all those tears were pent up and begging for escape. The Point looked at his watch and got in line, "Well, I have a plane to catch so—"

"Oh! Where are you headed?" The attentiveness and jollity coming through the receiver made him marvel why he didn't and wished he had distracted her with talk of countries and dreams instead of sharing private matters. Eh, it wouldn't have been smart to tell her about his travels anyway. "Ah…I can't disclose that."

"_Of course_." Arthur could _hear _the eye roll. "Well, thank you for calling."

Before hanging up, he declared, "Mon plaisir."

Ariadne couldn't have just hung up on Arthur. That's not who that was. That man was sweet, that man shared a scrap of his story to make hers seem less lonely. Ariadne gawped at the phone, at the recent calls, thinking about calling Penelope and having assistance clearing out her thoughts again. (No, if she wanted her thought CLEAR then calling Penelope wasn't a good idea, she only muddled them more. Too many Wizard of Oz metaphors.)

xxxxxxx

"This is Arthur."

Well technically it was Bon Quo Quo Jumanji because Michelangelo and Bart Simpson and Arthur were disconnected for the time being. Of course the question of whether calling him was an approvable thing to do didn't cross her mind until she'd already dialed three of his numbers and he'd answered one. Then again, he wouldn't have given her a way (or six or seven) to reach him if he secretly prayed she wouldn't. So Ariadne beamed proudly, "I did it."

"Congratulations…? Is this Ariadne?" Arthur held his finger up to his Chemist and excused himself to the corner.

"Yes." Ariadne winced: The Point Man had no idea what she was alluding to. Duh, he wouldn't remember their conversations specifically. Probably forgot he'd even called her on her brother's birthday much less his suggestion. Ariadne had just gotten off the phone with her mother after dreading the task for weeks. Refreshed now (but leery because of his answer), she elaborated, "I called my parents."

"Oh. Ok." He politely inquired further, "I gather it went better than you imagined?"

There was recognition there...good. Sort of. "Yeah, I should've called sooner." The news Ariadne was once so excited to tell him now felt like a dumb piece of info he didn't care to know. She felt like she was bothering him. "Dad's been in physical and speech therapy and mom says he's making progress fast."

"See? I was right." His palm covered the mic, "One second Barlow. I'm finishing up."

"Mhm." Ariadne had expressed what she'd called to. Really it was an excuse to talk to him again now that she had his number(s)…Now that the Architect did a thorough scrutiny of her intentions. She chewed on her lip and picked at the edge of her kitchen counter in hopes he would bring up another topic. In hopes he wanted to keep talking to her as much as she wanted to keep talking with him. Nothing ever came…so she awkwardly leaded out, "Well…that's it."

"I'm glad to hear that about your father." It sounded genuine but Ariadne couldn't help grimacing and scolding herself for pestering him while he was (most likely) working. Arthur hurried, "Goodbye."

"Bye." Ariadne huffed and plopped the phone on its holder. The time before—the satisfying exchange—was an anomaly. A one time thing. The Architect deleted him from the recent calls list and vowed not to make contact unless she was being kidnapped by terrorists.

Knock on wood.

xxxxxx

"Hello?" The girl picked up the phone without even looking at it. She was preoccupied. If she _had_ looked at it she would've seen the name Yoshi Ching Chang on the caller id.

"Hello Architect." Spirited. Arthur sounded spirited and upbeat. Quickly she felt for the totem in her pocket in case a Forger was messing with her brain. If one was, he or she evidently didn't research their marks because they sounded nothing like Arthur. No, it was reality. Her eyebrows furrowed as she pulled the phone from her ear to look at it weird, "Point Man?"

"In the intonation," he jested. _Jested. _What had improved between the last phone dialogue and this one? He certainly seemed friendlier than he had when she called a week and a half ago. Not that she was keeping track of when they spoke or anything. He couldn't be calling for a nice chat, he probably needed something. He was sucking up. (But Arthur didn't suck up, he demanded). "Can I help you?"

"I'm back in the States—" he started.

OH! He was kissing ass because he was fixing to request she join a job with him. She perked up and switched her attention from where it had been to the phone call, "On a job?" How many different ways could she jump on the opportunity without seeming eager? She hadn't dreamt in a good two months and creation withdrawal was settling into her bones.

"_Maybe_…" Arthur wasn't going to tell her. He wasn't offering a job. Bastard. "but I've tracked down a Sonny's for dinner and I can't remember—What was the thing you ordered for us?"

Huh? The Architect broke out into a fit of belly laughter. She could scarcely believe it, "Oh My God…You're calling me at midnight using international long distance minutes to ask what to get at Sonny's?" She had to study the screen again to make sure the number was one of the ones she recognized. And named.

"I didn't realize it was midnight," he pulled back. The lightness began seeping out the pinhole the time of day pricked him with. His chivalry undoubtedly worried about disturbing her, "but yes."

"Ok…" Ariadne's amused smile couldn't be contained. This was bizarre but she liked it. "Get the pulled pork on garlic bread." Could she record this conversation? Was he drunk?

"Wait, hold on." Rushed Arthur, then he sounded far away talking to another muffled speaker, "Yes—the uh pulled pork on garlic bread with—" She heard him get closer to the phone again and named off, "With the slaw, macaroni and baked beans. And make sure they put lots of hickory sweet on it." He repeated it away from his phone and then returned, "Thank you. I didn't wake you did I?"

Indifferent to his obsession over manners she still assured to make him feel better, "Please. I'm a night owl. I was internet shopping, watching Bates' Motel and making out with Ben and Jerry."

"Uh—"

Oh God, he didn't know who Ben and Jerry were, did he? It'd be her luck that he didn't. And now she sounded like a slut or something. Squinting in the silence (silence that made her face burn hotter), "Ben and Jerry are an ice cream brand. I was eating ice cream—I was making a funn—you know, just forget it."

"Interesting." Ariadne face palmed. How juvenile could she have sounded? In the background, someone said '10.52', there was rustling on a paper bag and then 'have a nice day'. "I seemed to get the impression you don't like shopping."

Deadpanning, Ariadne corrected, "For clothes. With my mother. I'm ordering this neat portable plotter that I can hook up to my iPad. I'll be able to design and print blueprints anywhere. Plus, I need one of those four wheel swivel suitcases."

"Yeah, that blue one you brought to Cobb's was falling apart. Planning on taking a vacation?" The clicking in the background she gathered was his blinker. Ariadne began multitasking too, putting the final piece of luggage in the cart and proceeding to the check-out page, phone in the crevice between her ear and shoulder, "Work trip, actually. I got a job."

"Dreamshare?"

Ariadne simpered and mocked him with the answer she always got, voice dropping an octave or two, "I can't disclose that."

"Be careful," requested Arthur. And with more concern than she thought he had for her. Genuine concern not concern because of a job that hinged on both of them. His protectiveness was endearing…she didn't need to be endeared. Endearment fed the crush. "What are their names? I'll background check the group first." Go back to being aloof and mean, why don't you?

"Lord," she sighed, "You don't even know what I'm doing and here comes the lecture."

"No lecture. But if it _is_ dreamshare—" Arthur was already making a mental note to do some digging and perhaps call Miles about her work trip when he got back to the warehouse. People in the industry were dangerous, he didn't trust anyone he, Cobb or even Eames hadn't recommended.

The Architect's taunting made his nostrils flare, "Isn't it annoying, not knowing?"

"Yes." Grumbled he. There was a fifty percent chance she was going to another part of France for a business party at her firm for all he knew. That meant a fifty percent chance he was putting himself out there for her as researcher and protector without cause. Just so she could listen to him squirm or something…made clear by her guffaw. Still, he persisted, "Remember, if you need anything—"

Ariadne pulled out her credit card and began entering her number in. She flippantly cut him off, "Yeah, yeah. Call Eames."

Arthur chuckled, "Hell no. Call me. I won't be drunk off my ass."

"I might." She teased. Inwardly pleased that he'd gotten comfortable enough to cuss around her. (In a frame of mind where he wasn't angry.) No. Nothing about him needed to please her.

Xxxxxx

The job in the States succeeded by the skin of its teeth. The Point was eighty nine percent sure the information would hold up but decided to take a week off in Helsinki just in case. Days had been boring. Currently, the wind was trying to blow through and mess up his hair on the ferry to Suomenlinna Island. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and went in from the deck, "This is Arthur."

"You need a more exciting greeting. You say that every time."

Arthur wanted to shoot himself for it but she made him grin, the dimply kind. "Ah, the Architect." He'd found out through an old contact that the job she'd procured was indeed for dreamshare somewhere in Australia. It was her first job (that he knew of) without anyone from the Inception team to accompany her, so he kept his mobile close in case she needed assistance. He'd been her mentor after all. "Do you need something? Is it going ok?"

"Quite." Quirkily, she spent longer on the q and u than the end of the word. Her sentences spewed out like she wasn't all there. Arthur imagined her hunched over a model, biting her lip and shaving off cardboard. "Everything's smooth sailing thus far."

He nodded and looked out onto the water. The overcast made the waves rougher but the island was appearing in the distance. If she knew he was on a boat, she'd be proud of her pun. "Good. What did you call for then?"

"Can I not call just to say hi?"

Arthur froze. It was one thing to call each other when they required something or when there was reason to. It was another thing entirely to compulsively chit chat and joke because they felt like hearing the other's quips. He should've told her it wasn't a good idea. He should've made an excuse to end the call. But you know what? His desire to stay on the line—the uncomfortable but happy warmth he felt knowing Ariadne called for no other reason than to connect with him—overpowered what his mind was telling him he should do. Arthur walked back out onto the deck (like he was walking away from his reason) and smirked, "Hi."

"Hi."

That marked the beginning of a short thirty minute chat every two weeks. They didn't need an order from Sonny's or a sad anniversary day to call. Just a small window of time and a quiet corner. Ariadne called him to talk about the outcome of her job and her weird teammates on her metro commute to visit the Miles'. He called the Architect sometimes after long grueling days at the "office" to complain about others' incompetence or share a tidbit of the day that reminded him of something she'd understand: Garlic powder, pancake recipes, a Disney cartoon showing on tv.

Little by little, her name and role in his life started to have the same meaning Dom's did. It worried him every time he hung up. Be he kept calling back.

xxxxxxx

"We've been talking a lot lately. It's weird isn't it?" Arthur was on speaker, laying on one of the shelves in her bathroom as she curled her hair. She had on her nice, dark, jeans and a frilly top Edith coerced her into buying. Getting ready for outings with her friends was noiseless time that bored her, so she requested his entertainment.

"It's a change." The noise in the background on his side was non-existent besides the low tapping of keys. He was in his hotel room doing independent study on his mark. In truth, Arthur had been meditating on how frequent their catch-ups had become and was building up the courage to say something.

She dropped a strand of perfectly coiled brown and picked up a raggedly waved one to wind up, "A good one, I think." Remember when she complained to Penelope about walking on eggshells when she talked to him? Not anymore. Each time they spoke, she pushed minutely at their boundaries so that now she had a good idea of what subject-matter confines they were stuck in. The only downside was that the nicer and more conversation welcoming Arthur was, the more that crush from the Fischer Job latched onto her like a leech.

"We can't be more than friends."

Pause. Had he heard her thoughts? Had she said it out loud? No…but she about dropped the curling iron and burned her neck. Not that she would've noticed with her face tingling scarlet…oh no, oh no. "Woah…that was a non-sequitur."

Arthur admitted, it was technically out of the blue in context of their discussion but he sensed a coyness in some of her witticisms and phrases lately. Several that sounded a lot like flirting. Like she was beginning to believe they were long distance courting or the like. That couldn't happen. "I don't mean to offend or embarrass you but with how familiar we're getting with one another, I wanted to address the potential issue before we came to it."

Swallowing, Ariadne released her hair from the iron and plopped it on the counter, thinking hard about what he declared and what she thought it meant. Suddenly, she wasn't hot from blushing or the external heat of her hair appliance…she was white hot with feministic anger. How dare he assume she wanted to be more than friends?! Other than fleeting thoughts kept to herself she hadn't so much as dipped her toe in that direction. Ariadne was anal about not letting an interest show. She reacted to him like she reacted to Penelope that day. No way she'd let someone else dictate what she was feeling when _Ariadne _didn't even know. "Arthur…it's like pulling teeth to get you to act remotely friendly. That's exhausting as it is. _Why on earth_, would you think I'd want to _date_ you? Or that I'd think you'd actually want to date me?"

That wasn't the rejoinder he was going for. He said _' we can't' _didn't he? Not _you want_? Why would Arthur choose to say that anyway? Did the Parisian believe he was blaming or accusing her of such feelings? Arthur merely wanted to set the terms of conditions ahead of time since they were getting closer. "I didn't but just in case thoughts started to sway that direction, I wanted to nip any ideas in the bud." (And only because buds of that sort of idea were fertilizing and growing in _his_ imagination).

"Oh good. You caught me in the niche of time. You said hey instead of hello today so I was looking up apartments to move into together," seethed the young woman.

Great. He'd insulted her with his precautions. "Ariadne, I'm—"

"You don't have anything to worry about. We're on the same page. Neither of us wants to go any further with this." Completely forgetting the curling iron, her hands slammed onto her counter and Ariadne glared into the mirror like she was glaring at him, "We're friends _if _you could even call us _that_. I don't know why you can't treat me like Cobb or Eames. Why there has to be special rules cause I'm a woman. I can joke with you and not be flirting. You can call me on a regular basis without me thinking you're in love with me. I'm not that dense or desperate, Arthur." It was fortunate he couldn't see her throw her foundation across the room but he might've heard the clank of it hitting the wall and then tiled floor.

"I don't think you are." Now Arthur felt embarrassed. He held no grudge against her for responding this way; he might've countered the same if she was the one who called him and contended he was into her without him ever leaving sign. You might can agree that little is as mortifying as believing someone's feelings to be more than they are and bringing it up only to be corrected. With yells.

"And _neither_ are you that desirable. God, you flatter yourself entirely too much. Did you think that just because you tricked a kiss out of me on the Fischer job that I've been pining after you ever since?"

"No; absolutely n—" the Point Man scrambled to backtrack. Now she was hurling insults to his character, making him feel narcissistic and out of line.

"Get over yourself. I've never once entertained the idea of being with you. That's like fantasizing about being with a wall."

Ouch. All Ariadne needed to do was set his thoughts straight; she didn't have to be cruel. Arthur didn't dare open his mouth again. Now _he_ was fuming and afraid of the retorts he might sling back at her. Ariadne glanced at the time and realized she was going to be late. Sighing, she hastily finished up the call, "I've got to go. To make you feel better, I won't call you again unless it's urgent."

Ariadne jammed the 'end call' button with her thumb and tossed her phone onto the bed. Conveniently, Ariadne decided to leave it at home on the charger while she went out with the girls. That way she wouldn't think of the awful debacle her and Arthur's catch-up had become.

Arthur delved back into his research right after. There were three folders he needed prepared for his team by the next morning. A task that should've taken him an hour tops but ended up stretching over two and a half. Why? Because he couldn't help glancing at his cell and replaying the row with Ariadne over in his head. Shit. What kind of hole did Arthur dig himself in? Hurting or alienating the Architect was never his intention. Well, alienating her too much.

xxxxxxx

Ariadne changed into her pajamas, grabbed some leftover fruit salad and hopped into bed. Finally, she could do what she actually planned to do instead of going clubbing with her friends: Watch her recorded marathon of Cupcake Wars. Five minutes into the first challenge, the shrill of her phone interrupted the tension. "What Edith?! I told you I'm fine."

"I'm sorry." Blurted a low belted, male voice that was nothing like Edith's. Unless Edith caught pneumonia in the twenty minutes the Architect hadn't seen her for. Ariadne sat up in shock, tipping her totem on the nightstand. As a result of her being weirded out, the frame on the screen was paused and the fruit bowl in her lap moved. Her mouth opened but his voice spoke. "I have less than savory social skills. Nothing comes out like I mean it to. I know I sounded like a—"

"Big headed asshole?" the sentence was finished for him.

While Arthur didn't appreciate the foul language, he agreed about how he came across, "…yes. I apologize. Having something trivial wreck our friendship was exactly what I wanted to avoid."

"It's fine." Ariadne downplayed the earlier argument. "I get where you're coming from. What I said was harsh; you're not a wall."

Arthur didn't answer for a while, preceding: "I am a wall." They both stared at tv or ceiling in front of them while the fight dissolved into something of the past. "Your friendship is important to me, Ariadne. I just want to ensure we don't ruin it."

Her heart melted a little, damn him. "Maybe next time you should lead in with that…"

xxxxxxx

"Bahjer?" Her small voice mumbled a pitiful version of the typical French greeting. The capability to speak wasn't as awake as her squinted eyes. (Which weren't even a quarter awake but trying their best). The red boxy numbers on her clock still fuzzy, the sun not even daring to peek out of its horizon blanket.

"Ariadne?"

A deep breath sailed through the earpiece and crackled into his eardrums followed by the sound of sheets moving and bedframe creaking. Imagining her in bed was inappropriate, he reprimanded himself and did his utmost to ignore. Ariadne's voice cracked, "Arth? Hey…"

He looked from the sunset shining through the window of his train and glanced down at his watch. Since when did she nap in the afternoon on a Monday? "Did I wake you?"

"Nah." Ariadne yawned, "I was fixin' to get up for my 3 am tea and nutter butters anyway..."

His wrist fell down to his lap as he expressed regret, "I'm sorry…I computed the time difference wrong. Go back to sleep."

"No." She swallowed. He could tell she was forcing herself to sit up and talk, "Wait. What is it?" Arthur had accidentally woke her from sleep two times before. Each time, Ariadne stubbornly insisted on talking anyways even when what she replied with made no sense because of her fatigue. The Parisian's voice got raspy during the night; it was cute. If such an adjective was proper to use in terms of her…which it wasn't.

"It's not too urgent." He pushed, "I can call back when it's convenient." It was less for her convenience…more imperative for him to get away from her croaky likeableness. Damn her.

Even at three in the morning her snort was intimidating, "Convenient, Schmonvenient. We're too good at this phone tag thing, who knows when we'll talk again. What. Is. The. Deal, Point Man?"

Arthur instinctively breathed a laugh at her, "I have a job in Italy."

Ariadne leered, "Oooooh, eat some pizza for me."

"The thing _is_…" he drug out the s, "My team is in desperate need of an Architect. Do you happen to know one?"

xxxxxxx

"Hello?"

Arthur stepped outside of the warehouse to check on the whereabouts of their Architect. She was supposed to arrive thirty minutes ago and call when she got in. The flight could've easily been delayed that long but he wanted to make sure, "Hey, it's Arthur—"

"No dip, Sherlock."

Overlooking her sarcasm because of his need for information, he continued without falter, "Have you landed yet?"

"No." Ariadne began breathing heavy and sounded frantic, "Um—we're circling the city. Our landing gear broke off; they don't know what happened or how to get us down. They're thinking of parachuting…I'm scared, Arthur."

"What?! It'll be ok." Arthur complained and went back inside to look up her flight information on her booking to see if he could help. Perhaps he could get a small jet or helicopter to collect her. "Which airline is it? I'll see if I can—"

The woman on the other end of the receiver snickered, "I'm kidding." She relented on her mean ruse and told him seriously, "I'm in the cab."

At his desk, with laptop already switched on he complained, "You little—"

"Genius? I know."

Arthur could practically hear her beaming over the phone. In spite of himself, he was looking forward to seeing her…and that smile in person instead of visualizing it. "I was going to say smart-ass but that describes you too. Weren't you supposed to call when you got in?"

"I was fixing to!" She defended, "As soon as we got on the interstate."

"Sure," provoked the man.

Ariadne got louder, averring "I literally had my thumb on the call button…I was staring at your contact picture…you know the one of you in the princess crown?"

Arthur shushed, "We don't speak of that."

"See you in half an hour if my car doesn't crash."

Glaring during the process, his back turned so Eames couldn't perceive the grin climbing its way onto his appearance, "You really shouldn't joke about things like that."

"I'll be fine, you worry wart." Nagging further, Ariadne added, "Don't get too anxious to see me, though. I might get the wrong idea…"

Arthur chuckled, "I'll try."

No really. He would.  
xxxxxxx

_You're the reason why I'm closed.  
Tell me when you hear me falling.  
There's a possibility it wouldn't show.  
_-Possibility by Lykke Li 

Reviews, con-crit, suggestions welcomed.


	10. Dangerous

_Lauraa-x: _Thanks for the long review! Five shake…that poor socially awkward man. Haha. And yes, Ariadne gets very hotheaded when someone brings it up. It's one of those things where she absolutely hates that she feels something for him (as confusing and muddled as whatever those feelings are) but she keeps it in her head. And when someone takes it out for speculation, it annoys her. Because she annoys herself with the crush. _Pien1993: _Thanks! Yes both their thoughts are fun to play with. _Numbah435spiritsong: _your review literally made me so happy. Things are about to pick up a little for A/A though.

Thanks _FoxJL _and _Zannab0801 _for favoriting and following the story. Drop a line if you ever have time.

**Chapter 10: Dangerous.**

Arthur and the Chemist were in the middle of the warehouse talking about their Extractor when the door swung open and a short brunette strode in. The Chemist looked her up and down while Arthur obliviously kept talking. Her skinny jeans hugged her hips, her red blouse hung and flowed loosely like the waves of her hair. Wedges to make her look taller. Never taking his eye off of her, the Chemist pointed Arthur's attention behind him, "Who's that pretty little creature?"

The Point knew who the Chemist was referring to without having to look (only because neither Eames nor their Extractor would be classified as pretty. Or little.) but he did anyway. Both her hands clutched her sling as she surveyed her surroundings, making sure she was in the right place. There were lawn chairs and desks but she hadn't noticed any of the boys yet. Arthur lifted his hand to call her over but it was Eames' voice who boomed from the shadows on the right side of her. "Who let _you_ in?"

First, her head whipped to the voice in recognition and then her face lit up. "EAMES!" She dropped her bag and ran across the warehouse to tackle him in a hug, "Oh my God, I've missed you. Emails and phone calls don't do our friendship justice." Arthur's once excited demeanor (at seeing her in person again) fell slightly because of the vigor she greeted the forger with. And apparently the two had not only kept in touch by phone (like he and she had) but by email as well. Whereas Arthur had few friends and Ariadne one of the closest, Ariadne had many friends and all of them close. It was marginally bothersome.

"Don't I know it?" He released her and set her on the ground. Eyes twinkling, "Hey, have you gotten taller? Oh no it's just those stilts on your feet. And you're still shorter than me…"

Slap on the shoulder, "I wouldn't be talking," carefully, her hand picked through his hairs, "I think you're thinning out…"

"Not funny." Eames glared first, then mischievously advocated second, "Hey, I hear we're not technically starting til Monday. We should go to Naples tomorrow and feast on pizza where it was invented."

Ariadne nodded, "Hell yes." Distracted, she peered into the back of the building searching for a familiarly shaped shadow. "Where's Arthur?"

The Point Man reveled in that question for a split-second. The inclination that she wanted to see him felt empowering. "Hey Architect," He and the Chemist walked over to them. What was more empowering was the brightened hue of her eyes when they settled on him and the thrill hitting her features as strongly as the sunlight through the skylights.

The Chemist moved to her side and the Point Man pushed passed the Englishman. "Mr. 'Impossible'…" He stood with his hands in his pockets, not sure what to do with them. Ariadne thought they might just stand there and smile at each other but Arthur's hand finally found out what to make of itself. He offered, "Five shake?"

Eames asked what the hell as five shake was as a soundtrack to Ariadne complying. And then exclaimed how bizarre they both were once it was complete. Instead of letting go, though, Ariadne narrowed her eyes and tugged on his arm. Her arms wrapped around his neck easily and hugged him. She couldn't help it; The Architect was on an excitement high from being in a beautiful city she'd never seen before, from the prospect of dreaming again and seeing her old pals. "Sorry, I know you hate those," she mumbled as she released him, "I've just—" Saying she missed him might've made him uneasy. They were leagues more open with each other than before but feelings and emotions were still off-limits. So she settled for the equally true statement, "It's good to see you."

"You too." Arthur made no comment on the hug. To positively comment was out of question. To do so negatively wasn't something he could do truthfully. Maybe it wasn't the loud, animated, confetti and bubblegum reunion she'd had with Eames…Maybe it was gentler and quieter than that with the forger… but Arthur felt it decidedly just as important to her. And that made up for him feeling like their friendship suffered because of his careful boundaries.

The Italian man in the wings cleared his throat to bring Arthur back to the present. Eyes falling back to their bemused state, Arthur droned, "This is our Chemist, Gavin Russo."

Arthur didn't forecast Ariadne's reaction to the man to be what it was. He watched her closely while her head turned. While her eyes minutely widened. Regarding the rest of her face, she looked normal. Her eyes though, they glimmered. She pivoted to face him fully, holding out her hand, "Nice to meet you. I'm Ariadne."

Gavin was younger than Arthur, not by much but he was closer to Ariadne's age. Or so he looked. He had a perfect smile and face structure, dark hair and eyebrows. (Probably a minimally hairy chest and abs of steel). He'd lived in Italy for as long as Ariadne had lived in Paris and the beauty of the culture certainly rubbed off on him. Gavin shook her hand eagerly but instead of letting go, maneuvered to hold it and bring it to his lips. They lingered by her knuckles while he simpered, "The pleasure is all mine."

Downward like arrows, her eyes shot. And her entire face and neck glowed pink. To Arthur's surprise, she toyed back. He expected her to roll her eyes and call him a douche like she would Eames. To get offended by this man thinking he could melt her with his arrogant charm. Rather, that coy look in her eye that she normally gave Arthur when she challenged him? It was given to Gavin, "No…I'm pretty sure I got some pleasure from that."

The Chemist didn't let go of her hand. Arthur knew because he stared hard at it, thinking Gavin would realize how discourteous it was to keep it hostage and that any second he would drop it. Or any second, Ariadne would pull it away. It was hers, after all, she could remove it if she wanted. It wasn't too impolite. Did she know that? "Were you named after the myth? Princess of Crete? Dionysus' Wife?"

Impressed, Ariadne nodded, "Everyone gets that wrong. They think she married Theseus."

"He _was _her first love…" the Italian gestured around the warehouse with his free hand, "but he was all about the mission. Theseus broke her heart, Dionysus made her a goddess." Winking, (_winking _Arthur inwardly gaped) Gavin released her hand at last. They hadn't known each other three minutes and they were smiling at each other like they shared a secret. Something in Arthur's belly twitched with anger when her one eyebrow jumped. Could Ariadne not see that was a blatant move on her? She was an independent thinking woman…she hated womanizing men who doled out cheesy lines.

The Chemist addressed the other men, "Well I have some chemicals outside that I need to bring in and chill but—" Then he was back to Ariadne, like a damn cheetah on a gazelle, hand resting on her elbow, "I hope to get to know each other better, Princess." Princess?! Come on…

The Architect blushed _again_ while she nodded. Then waited until the warehouse door shut before she twisted to Arthur, "Did you pluck him from the pages of GQ? Isn't he a Chemist? Chemists aren't supposed to be sexy. They're supposed to be like Yusuf. No offense to Yusuf…"

Did Ariadne just use the word sexy? Who was this person? The Point Man didn't answer. Eames chuckled and teased, "Do I sense some attraction, love?"

"Um yes." She proclaimed unashamedly, "If I were a man, I'd be questioning my orientation right now." She gave them pointed looks, reached up to rest her palm on Eames' forehead, "Feeling straight?"

No. Impossible. The guy didn't seem all that great; he was nothing like Ariadne thought he was…whatever she thought he was. Gavin was headstrong and stubborn. Arthur sensed the man was a philanderer and tried to deter Ariadne before her thoughts derailed into dangerous territory, "From the few hours I've spent with him, he seems narcissistic. Completely in love with himself."

"Can you blame him?" Ariadne pursed her lips.

Not that Ariadne had agreed to the job because of the opportunity to work with Arthur again. Plausibly, it could've been one of the deciding factors or perhaps just a bonus. Not that Arthur believed they would spend any exclusive time together when she arrived. He thought they might talk for a bit longer than they had though. It wasn't that Arthur thought her arrival to the warehouse should be all about him…but it was as if not seeing each other in person for several months didn't matter to her. She was happy to see him for a fleeting moment and then he wasn't there. He was Arthur for two minutes and then back to the stuffy Point Man she felt was too square. Like they backtracked in the time it took her to say 'Nice to meet you, I'm Ariadne.' In conclusion:

Arthur didn't like Gavin Russo. He didn't like him at all.  
**xxxxxxx**

Their extractor, ex-military man, Victor Marsh arrived later that afternoon. And that night they met at the warehouse before a mandatory dinner with the client. Ever thinking ahead, Arthur rented a separate vehicle than the ones they'd use, for the purpose of riding down together. One only used for that event. That way any tails or cross-extractors wouldn't have the correct license plate number or vehicle make to do any tracking if something got leaked or the client turned on them.

Arthur was exceptionally good at offending Ariadne. As they all parted from the warehouse to check-in to their hotels, unpack and get ready for the dinner, he asked if she'd brought anything other than jeans and cardigans. And reminded her that they 'needed to look classy and well-bred .' To which she replied, "Sorry I dress like a trashy peasant, Arthur."

He meant it in the best of intentions so he tried to save the sinking ship, "It's not that I think adversely of your wardrobe. I find it refreshing…but the client is picky. I just mean dress nice like you did for the show."

Ariadne waved him off and left for the hotel without a word. The next time he saw her, she'd cleaned up well, wearing the dress from her brother's funeral with the addition of a skinny red belt, nude pumps and a light sweater. The section of her hair that normally hung over her face had been twisted and pinned back. Ariadne was the last to meet at the warehouse, arriving at 5:04 pm when Arthur specifically told her they needed to convene at 5:00 pm. "You're late."

"By _four_ minutes," she held up her phone with the time on it, "not twenty." Ariadne actually would've made it to the warehouse ten minutes early if she didn't deliberately take her time to piss Arthur off. Four minutes wasn't enough time to be reamed out by the client but more than enough to make the Point Man squirm. Which he deserved after implying she'd show up to a business dinner dressed like a slob. She grew up in the southern east coast…she knew about dressing to impress at dinner parties, crossing your legs and dotting your I's to look proper. Shannon had forced her to do the whole debutante cotillion thing at fifteen. "It takes time to look presentable to the public…" The Architect's held out arms said 'Tada' but her face said 'Bite me'. "Do you approve?"

Why did she always take things so personal? The Point Man did the same thing any invitation would've done. He requested an attire of her. Like garden attire or semi-formal or black and white tie. There was a need to remind her it wasn't a casual affair. If it was, then by all means: The more faded the jeans and bright the scarf, the merrier. "Yes, actually. It's exactly what I had in mind."

"That was a rhetorical question, I don't care." she chimed. "I've been dressing myself for 23 years; you should really trust me more."

Arthur straightened and started to reprimand, "There is no need to be rude to me."

"You were rude to _me_."

Now, Arthur could tell himself he was in the right. That he said nothing wrong. That he was being helpful, that his intentions were good. That she was overreacting and there was nothing to apologize for. Or he get her anger with him to subside… "You know I didn't mean to be." The Point man guessed they were back to normal when she shrugged. He thought he caught it rolling off her back. What was going on? What was the deal here? What had changed between her yanking him into a hug that morning and their fighting now? It was more that his botched up words earlier.

"Looking good, Princess!" Both Ariadne and Arthur twisted to see the Chemist emerge from the bathroom, cheekily winking at her. But when Arthur turned back to their conversation, the Architect was staring downcast, biting her lip to keep from smiling.

It was Gavin's fault. He was worse than Eames…sure, when it was just Arthur and Ariadne or even when they were accompanied by Dom or Miles, Arthur could be lighthearted enough for her. His jokes would seem funny, his teasing entertaining. The little he'd allow himself to do was good enough for her, good enough to seem close, when not compared with anyone else. But Eames and Gavin were so over the top with their attentions that it made all the small things (like a one-liner and smirk or a flash of his laser point pen) seem pitiful tries at being friendly. For instance: "How about we bury the hatchet with a five shake?"

The woman glanced at him preceding a check of her phone, "It's 5:09, we don't want to be too late."  
xxxxxxx

The client was late. Nearly an hour.

The restaurant they picked was in the heart of classical Rome, near the blocked off ruins, somewhere around the Coliseum. An option for private dining was the establishment's rooftop terrace (weather permitting). Black iron twisted into ornately shaped railing around the perimeter of the building. One long rectangular table sat smack dab in the middle, adorned with an ivory tablecloth, lowly burning candles, and rustic orange plate sets. A garden area was neatly placed on the back half of the roof, sundried tomatoes hanging from lattice archways in the midst of bright Christmas light looking fixtures and the smell of freshly turned soil. After the first fifteen minutes of sitting patiently at the table and marveling at the surrounding skyline, Ariadne decided to drag Eames over to explore the garden. And once that was done and the Forger rejoined the group at the table, The Architect fancied leaning over the rail and listening to the band. They played from the ground floor amidst the patrons in the courtyard. Classical Italian favorites like On An Evening in Roma and Volare.

Any minute now, their client would show up and their Architect would be dilly-dallying off lost in her own world. It was given Arthur a coronary. He forgot how stressful Ariadne could be…she should sit down so the team would be ready to dive into business as soon as Mr. Petrelli got there. That and her swaying was distracting. He breathed a sigh of relief when Gavin got up to bring her back to the table.

Except he didn't lead her back. He leaned his hip into the rail beside her and whispered something that she nodded to. Sipping his water, Arthur narrowed his eyes to read Gavin's lips. Once the Chemist put a hand around her waist, Arthur was ready to intervene. Gavin was certainly making her uncomfortable. He was being too forward and forcing himself on her, Ariadne was trying to fight him off by—resting her hand lightly on his shoulder and offering the other to be held? It took a few side steps for Arthur to realize this wasn't some odd form of rape, they were dancing. _When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie that's amore. When the world seems to shine like you've had too much wine that's amore._

Down, up, up. Down up, up. He twirled her unexpectedly. Gavin led Ariadne around the terrace slowly until the music built, then bounced and sashayed upbeat with the tambourine. Making her laugh uncontrollably, being a little kid with her like she was with James and Philippa. It got where he would mouth the lead tenor's voice and she would mouth for the litany of female background voices. Mr. Petrelli arrived in the middle of their routine, but Arthur hadn't noticed because he was zoned in on the Chemist and Architect. This grinded on his nerves more than the things she did with Eames. Probably because he knew there was no attraction with Eames. It was pure comedy between them. But with Gavin—she openly admitted to being interested. And well…the problem there was that a romantic relationship within the team would be detrimental to the job.

"_When you walk in a dream but you know you're dreaming signore…" _ the Architect was dipped, causing her hand to move to Gavin's neck not to fall. Causing Arthur's glare to harden.

For Ariadne, Gavin was an opportunity. For what? To get over her unfair, peculiar infatuation with the Point Man. There was no use fantasizing about it or hanging on scraps of his attention. Here was a handsome, unguarded man who worked in the field she loved that she could transfer those feelings to. Judging by the way he treated her, the chances of them dating were far greater than the chance of Ariadne and Arthur. In fact, the chance of dating Channing Tatum was more foreseeable.

"Arthur." Victor called. "_Arthur." _

Upon switching his attention to the Extractor, he noticed both Eames, Victor and Petrelli were standing and greeting one another. Smoothing the front of his jacket, Arthur gave him a firm handshake. "Hello Philippe."

"I apologize for the delay, my jet had some trouble and we had to make a stop in Livorno." The Point heard him say. He didn't see because his eyes slid back over to the Architect to make sure they knew the client was there. Thankfully they had and made their way back to the table as the men sat. Philippe, pointed with his hand to the rest of the terrace, "Don't stop on my account."

Great. Ariadne glimpsed at Arthur worriedly. She cared less about offending the boss than she did about embarrassing Arthur. They had a tiff before dinner but she didn't want another one. "I'm sorry, sir."

"No, don't apologize. I wasn't being facetious," corrected he while draping the napkin in his lap, "I enjoyed watching you two dance." Arthur thought wryly that that made one of them.

Ariadne winced shyly, "Because it's humorous?" Then she took a big swig of the merlot for a boost in confidence, "I design better than I dance, I promise." This was where her cotillion luncheons _finally _paid off. Her mom was right; she could use that fakely charming small talk for _something._

"Design?" Philippe's brows rose, "Then you must be Miss Bourgeois." Suddenly his amused fondness of the girl turned into utmost respect and he offered his hand across the table for her to shake.

"Yes sir, Ariadne."

"I'm honored. Especially since Arthur was so adamant about having you on his team. I've hired him before. There are very few he brags about."

Arthur stiffened. Did he have to announce that to the whole table? It took no time at all for Eames to nudge him and lilt with too much suggestiveness to be overlooked by the rest of the party. "_Brags_?"

Ariadne caught his disenchantment with the notion being mistaken (Except he was disenchanted that they _weren't _mistaken. He really _had_ bragged. Because he was proud of her.) so she shook her head humbly, "Well, he was one of my mentors. I'm sure any compliments were just strokes to his ego."

Which was worse? Her thinking he took all the credit for her talents or her knowing he pulled strings to work with her again? Mr. Petrelli settled it for him, "No, he credited your training to Stephen Miles over in Paris."

Ariadne nodded, followed by another dainty sip of wine, "That would be true of real-world architecture. But Arthur—" she looked at him that way she did at the foot of the stairs in Cobb's house. That way she did when he was introduced to the Holts. That private way she hadn't looked at him with since she met Gavin and even though that was only since that morning, he missed. "Arthur, taught me how to use it in the dream."

She gave credit where it was undue. He didn't teach her how to take the dreamscape by storm, he unlocked her ability to. Arthur didn't do anything really. He gave her tips but the awe-inspiring work was all hers. The pure creation was all her. "I didn't teach you how to be innovative."

Eames chuckled, "No, he certainly didn't."

"Enough about me." Ariadne shook her head and changed subject, "Shall we discuss the job?"  
xxxxxxx

The warehouse was empty save for their resident workaholic. Not that she was surprised…Instead of heading straight to her corner, she stop off at her friend's desk. "Why good morning, Point Man," her face was framed by her hands as she leaned her elbows on his desk. Her scarf of the day hung between her arms: A bright orange and buttered yellow grid pattern.

Arthur looked at his watch and then at her incredulously, "You're here an hour and a half early." Not that he was complaining. He woke up with a strange anticipation to get to the warehouse which he only realized was anticipation to see the Architect once she waltzed in. Typing in the end of his sentence first, he leaned back in his chair to converse.

"I was excited," she beamed then winced in afterthought, "I wouldn't count on it happening every morning, though."

He smirked, "No I wasn't going to." Lighthearted chit chat had become extremely easy for him over the phone. He got used to teasing and taking ribs on at least a monthly basis when either of them called. In person, however, he felt himself clamming back up again. Not because he wanted to but because he wasn't used to her bright eyes and alluring smile accompanying the voice on the receiver. Sometimes he imagined it, he could see it through her intonation but it was never in front of him. He struggled on how to handle it. Phones allow you to feign connection with someone comfortably because you're miles away from them. Not a foot away. Not making eye contact. Not falling victim to their feminine wiles.

"So, what'd you do yesterday?" Normally, Arthur would've said something when she moved a stack of paperwork from the bottom corner of his desk to the upper corner and hopped atop it. Desks weren't for sitting; he put his breakfast and coffee there. And each object or document was placed in a certain area of his workspace for a reason. One object where it shouldn't be and the research could be screwed, causing failure in the dream and repercussions in reality. He didn't scold her though. Arthur was too occupied concentrating on the fact that her legs were inches from his forearm, that they were swinging (in what felt like a teasing way to him) and that he was so glad he called her to be the Architect for this job cause he missed her levity. "Head start on research?"

The man hoped his eye placement while he was internally battling wasn't noticeable. He gestured playfully to the heaps of towered papers, open files, books, highlighters and his computer. "How'd you know?" Ariadne considered the bounty in front of them thoughtfully, then shrugged, equally as playful. Her eyes left his for no reason but to scour over the warehouse. Strangely, he wanted them back. So he asked a question, "What about you?" He heard her and Eames discussing a trip to another part of Italy on their day off, "Naples with the Forger?"

And deliciously, her gaze returned. "Naples with the Forger. Wreaking havoc on the city. Gondola-jacking." At his puzzled expression, she explained, "Like car-jacking. But with a gondola. It's super popular here…or so Eames convinced me. He's quite the loose cannon, that one."

"No…" he breathed in utter fabricated shock, "not Mr. Eames…" The greatest sound he'd heard in a while had to have been the way their laughs mixed together. It was better in person—not all crackly and blind. Arthur thought of the difference between this interaction and the last one they had and couldn't help but bring it up. "Are we ok?"

"Why wouldn't we be?"

For starters, because of Mr. 'Pleasure Is All Mine' Russo but he avoided the subject of the Chemist completely...Arthur even aimlessly scrolled through documents on his computer to seem less invested, "Our first day back wasn't as jovial as it could've been. And you were upset with me for more than half of it."

"It was two days ago," she shrugged.

Silence fell upon them. Maybe the Architect looked like she'd forgotten it, pointlessly scanning the warehouse and tapping her fingers on his desk but a gnat inside Arthur's ear kept buzzing that it wasn't resolved. "I don't hold any disdain for the way you dress."

"I know," fell out of her mouth so purely true that he was perplexed. Well then why had she acted so highly insulted that night? The explanation came quick enough, "It wasn't that. You just…went back to being old, condescending Arthur." The Point Man didn't say anything when she plucked a highlighter from his holder either. Nor when she started writing on her hand with it. (He was sure you could get some kind of poisoning from that…but since she just complained about his condescension, he'd leave it up to her judgment.) "I was upset 'cause it felt like we backtracked."

Exactly Arthur's train of thought. But there was no way he would allow himself to indicate feelings so he chose an alternative word, "I sensed that too."

Ariadne truly was a great associate. Ever since she bought him that breakfast (probably before as well), Arthur observed how considerate she was. Not only in general but to him specifically. She did her best to understand his atypical views on relationships and how they should operate in the workplace and to the greatest of her ability abided by the boundaries that kept him at ease. Arthur was no fool. He was not blind or deaf. He saw when she would go to pat or hug him and her muscles would reflexively flinch back. He heard her brief stammer and rewording when she was fixing to say something that might throw him off or put him on the spot. In that moment, he could perceive the wheels turning in her head, formulating what she should say, "I know we have to be way more serious than we were at Dom's when we're on the clock. And I know work comes first and all that but…" when Ariadne hesitated, he made sure to lean forward and show her she could (_should) _continue. That he was interested in her contemplations. "You _could _talk to me like you do on the phone. And not like I'm livestock."

Was that an accurate description of his dealings with her that day? Arthur visibly winced, "I'll adjust."

"Bonjourno all." In came Gavin to interrupt and her eyes quickly shot up to watch him parade in. Arthur didn't miss the way she sat up a bit straighter. "Ariadne, la bella." He winked at her (what was with that guy and winking? He should have it checked for a condition or get eye drops) and saluted the Point who did little more than purse his lips and wave.

It was good that she didn't sound hypnotized by him, "Morning Gavin." It worked wonders on Arthur's building nerves that she regarded the new Chemist like she would any of them. "Well, I'll stop bothering you." Wait, was talking to Arthur again? The suit looked over from Gavin to Ariadne, who'd already hopped off and was straightening his papers back where they were. In haste, Arthur glanced at his watch. They had an hour before their Extractor, Victor, showed up for the agreed assembly time. He was at a loss—knowing what spurred it on but he wanted more time with her. (And to keep her from going over to sit on _Gavin's desk_ and flirt because…well, Gavin was clearly trouble and he needed to keep her away from trouble. So said Miles.) "Actually, I was fixing to go on a coffee run since we have some time. Would you like to come with me?" It wasn't a date. Two co-workers could have coffee. Two comrades could have breakfast in each other's company.

"I would but Gavin just got here." Was she kidding? "I'd feel rude if we both left."

There were two available options. One: He could go along himself and leave her and the Chemist alone in the workshop. Two: He could invite them both. "He's welcome to come too."

"I'll ask him." She nodded enthusiastically and traipsed off. Angry at himself for not only inviting the Chemist but coming up with a spur of the moment breakfast outing (which Ariadne was the cause of dammit), he shut his laptop emphatically, shoved his wallet into his pocket and yanked on his jacket.  
xxxxxxx

Unfortunately, the Chemist had an unhealthy addiction to caffeine and jumped at the opportunity to join them. Arthur was sure there was plenty of preparation Gavin could do that morning instead of accompanying he and Ariadne but he wouldn't micro-manage on the technical first day of work. The two grabbed the outerwear needed and the Point locked the door before leading Ariadne down the sidewalk to his car. Jingling his keys, Gavin grabbed a flame-blazed helmet off of silver handlebars, "I'll follow you guys."

Both Arthur and the girl twisted to nod affirmatively. Ariadne gasped, "Whoa, wait. That's yours?!"

Gavin slung his leg over to straddle the seat of the black and red Ducati motorcycle. "Yeah! Ever been on one?" Typical. Typical, _typical, _typical. Of course Mr. Italian Model would have a motorcycle. What, did he smoke cigars, have twelve tattoos and eat meat raw too? Arthur's recon on Russo should've been more extensive. The Point's dark eyes slid over to Ariadne's face to gauge her reaction. Feminism's avid fan would surely roll her eyes at this guy and his evident pass. Wait, no signs of that? The Architect shrugged, "I mean one of my friends back in Paris has a little moped but—"

"Hop on," and out he held the helmet as Arthur opened his passenger door for her. Like an unspoken competition.

"Are you—"

"Serious? Yes, you'll love it." How would that buff know what the Architect would enjoy? He'd known her all of _one day_. Ariadne looked questioningly at the Point. Sort of like a 'would you mind it terribly if I blew you off even though you specifically asked me to come with you because I wanna ride on the back of bad boy's bike even though he wasn't even technically invited?' type look. Or Arthur thought, anyway. To his credit, no annoyance showed. He closed the car door and walked around. In his rearview mirror, he scrutinized Gavin while he placed the protective head gear on Ariadne's head and she straddled the bike behind him. When her arms were pulled around Gavin's waist and he mouthed something that looked like, "Hold on tight," Arthur revved up his engine and stepped on the gas. It was like watching a poorly executed, cheap, romance film. You know, the one where good girl goes to Italy and has a summer fling with the rebel Italian heartthrob and there is no deeper subplot or character arc.  
xxxxxx

Gavin also beat him to opening the door for her, "Ladies first."

Please. It was always the gentleman type character who did such things. Gavin was no gentleman…the Point caught him eyeing Ariadne's lower half while she walked in front of him. Self-satisfactorily, Arthur took advantage of the Chemist's fake manners and allowed him to hold the door open as he passed through as well. Putting Arthur right behind Ariadne in line to order. Between them, so the Italian native couldn't ogle her butt anymore. "Medium French vanilla latte with soy milk and cinnamon and a chocolate croissant, per favore."

The Point Man appeared behind her before the register could ring her up and stated in his best Italian, "I'm paying for hers as well." A black leather wallet surfaced from his back pocket; his fingers sifted and pulled out bills non-chalantly. "Arthur—" He saw the vase of short stemmed tulips, freshly picked, with a sign declaring that you could take one if you left a tip. He stuffed a flower in his outer breast pocket and dropped five euros in the jar, dismissing her protests, "We're going to hold up the line if you insist on arguing."

The Parisian sighed, "Forget the croissant then," and received a nudge.

"Anything for you sir?" asked the waitress.

He nodded. Looked over the glass case of pastries and breakfast sandwiches, "One large coffee, black. An egg and sausage biscuit—_and _the chocolate croissant." Arthur handed the worker the money he took out and told her to keep the change. Then, waited down the counter for their food, listening to Gavin order while Ariadne picked a table.

He found her outside under a green and white umbrella checking emails or texting on her phone. The Point set their tray down and placed her food in front of her, his in the place he chose to sit across from her and then put the tray up. When he returned she was holding up the croissant purposely for his view, "Seriously?"

"You always thank me in the most ungrateful way possible," he badgered but grinned.

"Sorry." Ariadne thought about it and grimaced. "I do appreciate it. It just always makes me feel bad…like I'm putting you out or something."

The Point shook his head, "I asked you to join me with the intention of buying your breakfast." As an afterthought (or not so much said the part of his brain that decided to get one), he picked the flower from his breast pocket and handed it to her. "We haven't seen each other in a while. I wanted to do something nice."

The Architect twirled the lavender tulip between her thumb and forefinger. Gestures like this made it seem like squashing down her fascination with the Point Man would be as difficult as backpacking across the globe with crutches. Because he could be so damn thoughtful and sweet five percent of the time and the five percent was potent enough to momentarily make up for the other ninety-five. Sighing, she placed it on the table next to her plate and stirred her beverage.

Any hope of further conversation with the Architect was killed when Gavin joined them. It only made sense that he and Gavin would sit across from Ariadne but Gavin chose to sit next to her and rest his arm on the back of her chair half the time. Where did he get off thinking that was ok. They were practically strangers. And the guy was an outright attention whore. He talked non-stop about his adventures in Spain, his personal taste in tv shows and the 'most intense' jobs he'd ever taken. All in efforts to impress the girl, of course. Shockingly, Ariadne acted interested. Like Barcelona and Game of Thrones and a triple layer job with sub-security and the rest of his team dead (that had to be an exaggeration) were actually topics of great significance. Half an hour (a half Arthur mourned he would never get back) into the history of the Great Gavin Russo and his antics switched to engaging Ariadne in a (cliché, if you asked the Point) game.

What the Chemist did was lay a twenty dollar bill on the table and tell Ariadne she could keep it if she could grab it faster than him. He had her hold her hand six inches from the bill and he held his three above hers. He told her to watch his hand and when he moved to go around hers all she had to do was slam her hand down. They played four times and she was astonished that she couldn't slam her hand down before he could maneuver his _around and under_ hers to grasp the bill. "How do you do that?" She glanced at Arthur like she was asking for an answer or seeing if he was as flabbergasted. Please. None of this impressed him. The Point Man had had enough of her amazed demeanor. When Gavin laid the bill back out and put his hand up high again, Arthur set out his hand where hers had been and looked her coolly in the eyes. Not stern or mean but simply bored and bemused. Like always. "Ariadne, the key is not to—" The Chemist's hand struck but Arthur beat him to it and bested him at his own game, "—think about it."

Well…on second thought…her amazed demeanor was agreeable when it was geared towards him. "Damn, Mr. Miagi…"

"When you focus too hard on the task and anticipate your opponent's movement, your reflexes slow. You sabotage yourself."

Let's hope Arthur would follow his own advice.

Xxxxxxx

_She's so dangerous, that girl is so dangerous.  
Take away my money, throw away my time.  
You can call me honey  
But you're no damn lover, friend of mine.  
–_Dangerous by Michael Jackson

What do we think of Gavin? If you're curious who I use as his face claim it is on my profile under elaborations and 'With You'. Are we sensing some jealousy? Even though Arthur doesn't know that's what it is yet? This my friends, it where our story starts to get good. Lol.


	11. Trouble Is a Friend

_Lauraa-x: _Yes he is. He's just not sure that's actually jealousy yet. He'll catch on. Yes sweet moments…and definitely gonna have to step up his game. As far as Ariadne's concerned he was decisive about not ruining their friendship and to her, he goes out of his way to show her that. When really, he's just bad at expressing himself. Ari is a lucky, lucky girl. Ahahah. _numbah435spiritsong: _This is Arthur in early stages of jealousy too…it'll get much better. Wink wink. _Amelia-Rose: _Oh girl, something like that will definitely happen. Its in the outline for future chappies, just stay tuned. I think Ari knows Gavin is no Arthur…but since she thinks there's absolutely no chance with the Point Man she's welcoming the Chemist with open arms. _Guest: _I don't either. Think of him as a necessary evil, though. ;).

Thanks _ecolution _for following.

**Chapter 11: Trouble Is a Friend.**

By the end of the week, they had the first level and its scape planned out so Ariadne could begin brainstorming her layouts. It was going to be a cityscape much like Chicago—really nothing she hadn't done before. The feel was active and hectic to make their mark feel right at home maneuvering the streets. The Architect spent the last three days drawing maze after maze and would show her favorites to their Extractor on Saturday; from there, he and Arthur would pick one she could build details on top of at the start of week two. The motive behind their ruse and the different cons they could use to persuade him under level after level was still an ongoing discussion at this point. That's what the Extractor, Victor, stayed concerned with. They often began the day with a production meeting and then had another one at two and another at four (just after lunch break and just before dinner's.) Since it was too early to decide on kicks and the heaviness of sedative, Gavin spent the week formulating two base compounds he could work off of depending on the direction they took. Eames didn't have any characters to work on as of yet, so his job was smooth sailing. He was there for idea spitting and to tease the Point Man. Speaking of, Arthur did what he did best. Research, research, research. He was doing his utmost to scrounge up things of substance the team could use for inspirations or _anything_ to give Eames something to do so he'd get off his back.

He might've found something…the mark had an uncle he grew up around that he hadn't kept in touch with. The uncle used to be his source of reasoning, a male figure he looked up to since his dad was a drunk. Having an appearance by him in the dream might be persuasive. He set his collection of information and photos to print and went to use the restroom. He glanced over at the girl's corner aimlessly and noticed she was huddled up, gripping her arms yet trying to use a ruler so he made a detour. "Ariadne."

"Hm?" Keeping her focus down on her task, she took a pencil and traced the line. Her appendages as close to her as she could manage while doing so.

"I can hear your teeth chattering all the way over at my desk." They weren't really but he could still determine she was cold. And he tended to joke when he put himself in her presence, "It's very distracting."

Ariadne winced then, finished with the maze, looked up. "Sorry. The vent is blowing directly on me. It's penetrating through all my layers." She had a habit of piling clothing on top of clothing. Whether that was a temperature thing or a style choice or insecurity about her body, he hadn't learned yet. He suspected it might be a combination of the first two because why she would be insecure about her body was lost on him. Then again, he was a man. On this day, she wore black tights, a full black knee-length skirt with tiny reddish dots sprinkled all over it, a Beatles t-shirt, and army green combat boots. Eccentric.

Arthur made a note to check the thermostat. It was usually cool in their workplace but the Architect was literally hot all the time. She had to keep a small fan by her desk. For_ her_ to be freezing, it had to be an ungodly temperature. Since all the men wore pants and button ups and jackets, they were sure not to notice. "You know this place gets cold easy; where's your jacket?" He always sounded like he was attempting to be her father, didn't he? That wouldn't do. He didn't exactly know how he felt about her but an adopted daughter was most definitely not on the list of possibilities.

Ariadne sheepishly smiled, "On my bed in the hotel room? I was running late."

"Big surprise," got the Point Man rewarded with a gape and hit of her pencil.

"Here." There have been stories of people who black-out and commit heinous sins like murder and arson. During Arthur's black out, however, he'd shed his suit jacket and placed it over her shoulders. He 'came to' while she was thanking him and sliding her arms through the sleeves. He tried to lie to himself and think she didn't look sweet engulfed in his clothing. Her jackets swallowed her up enough, much less Arthur's.

Xxxxxxx

Oh, wow. Ariadne discovered throughout the remainder of the day that the smell of Arthur's cologne—what brand did he buy? Designer probably? It was so distinguished— diverted her attention from the matter at hand all day. Some men (some like Eames) didn't understand the difference between smelling intoxicatingly wonderful and overdosing their bodies in overpowering scents. Arthur had the balance just right. He _was _Arthur, he thrived on perfection of everything. It was hard to pinpoint but the smell was refined with just a hint of peppermint and tobacco. Arthur didn't smoke much, he was mostly in the presence of Eames who smoked heavily so it wasn't prevalent. If she could bury her face in it without looking completely enthralled by something that had to do with the Point Man, she would've. And would've contemplated never coming up for air. If she could somehow live off of his scent like it was oxygen…she would. It was that inebriating.

She'd had to roll the sleeves up to keep them out of the way since they fell further than her hands (something she inwardly liked). There's something so pleasing about wearing a man's shirt or jacket. Whether your father's or friend's or boyfriend's or husband's. Of course each has a signature feeling. But in general. The largeness is comforting. The fabric of his Armani (had she personally ever worn something so expensive?) was heavy and toasty warm from having been on his body. The Architect could've curled up and gone to sleep from the fuzzy feelings that wearing the Point's article of clothing gave her. The Architect even shamefully (or not so much) waved off Gavin's offer to bring over his space heater, saying it would be too much trouble and _really_ she was perfectly fine in Arthur's jacket. In fact, at the end of the night despite her need for a clear head, she was disinclined to return it.  
xxxxxx

It never showed in his mannerisms or on his face but Arthur took a liking to the way his jacket laid over her form. Again, it was huge. The contrast was pleasing. If not only because it was humorous. She looked like an elf or hobbit or a little girl dressing up in it. He purposely glanced in her direction numerous times just because it made him smile. Her rejection of Gavin's heater shouldn't have made him feel proud but it did. He sat slightly straighter and brighter after watching her grip his jacket minutely tighter around her and state, "Arthur's jacket's really all I need, thanks though."

The Point Man hadn't peeked in a good half hour when her light flickered off and her voice called out, "Night Eames! Night Vic." She was sauntering to his desk by the time he minimized his browser, "See ya, Point Man." Ariadne was using that closed lipped smile that suggested she knew an awesome secret. That stupid smile that made his mouth say things he didn't intend to. The ridiculous one that forced him to wonder about illogical futures.

"Let me drive you," It was form of habit, honestly. There were too many times to count during Inception and their job in LA where he had escorted her back to her flat or the hotel to ensure she reached her destination safely. Or someone would call her a cab if he had a lot to do. She was a young woman in the blossom of her years traveling alone in strange cities—that didn't account for the best possible scenarios. Several things could happen to her unarmed and unaccompanied. Arthur decided his work could be pushed back fifteen or twenty minutes for her that night. In the process of him lowering the top of his computer, she sounded, "Oh, you don't have to."

"You should know by now, I don't like you on your own when it gets late. It's not safe." There appeared to be a cut-off time. Before ten, the streets were deemed safe enough. After ten, he wanted to give her a gun. Or a SWAT team.

"Believe me, I know," rolled the Architect's eyes as she half laughed, "I won't be on my own. Gavin offered to give me a ride."

Ariadne must've figured it would pacify Arthur. That she would have an escort in the form of one of their other team members. "Oh." Nope. It only served to aggravate him. Bad associations spoil useful habits…the Chemist wasn't the best influence. He could tell. The man's hair could use a good combing.

"Thanks for the jacket by the way," Ariadne held out his nicely folded jacket. (So she did possess the knowledge of how to fold…)The girl inspected the sleeve as she handed it over, "I may have gotten some graphite on it. I'll pay to have it cleaned if—"

"It's just a jacket," Arthur set it down on his desk.

"An Armani…" the woman pointed out.

"…Is just a name," the man finished, "I don't mind," and sat back down in his chair to open up his laptop again. Ariadne took it as her cue to leave which wasn't what he meant at all. He figured his computer could reload as they talked. Ariadne alone with Gavin…she would need some form of protection. Some way to keep her head level despite the loosely conducted Italian. Arthur swiveled, jacket back in hand, "Are you sure you don't want to wear it back to the hotel? It might get chilly on the back of his bike."

The Parisian's mouth opened and for five seconds he believed she was going to take it back, then her train of thought rerouted and she shook her head, "I think I'll be ok. Thanks though." Arthur nodded to both that and her: "See you in the morning."  
xxxxxx

Except Arthur _didn't_ see her the next morning. Nine o'clock rolled around (the team met at eight-thirty but always late, she usually arrived at nine) and he didn't see her. Ten o'clock came, and then eleven o'clock, then eleven fifteen and by eleven eighteen you can imagine, he was chomping at the bit. That was two hours and eighteen minutes of tardiness. Ariadne may have been a late and slow riser but she was serious about the profession and her role in it. Arthur found himself at Eames' desk around eleven twenty. If she slept way past her alarm or something she'd most likely feel more comfortable confessing to Eames rather than Arthur. "Have you heard from Ariadne this morning?"

The Forger was _surprisingly_ working on ideas for Level Two of the dream in a composition book and sipping on Earl Grey. There were over-characterized doodles of he and the rest of the team in the margins but at least he was contributing—though minimally. He looked up, confused, "I thought you gave her the day off or something. I haven't heard a peep." Maybe Vic had…?

Then the Extractor called Arthur over. "I can't hold the production meeting for Ariadne all day. You know where the hell she is? I can't get a hold of her." Victor was slowly getting pissed off about Ariadne's absence. He wasn't as anal as Arthur, so the unpunctuality he could let slide but not to show up and not to inform them why? The Point Man sighed and coaxed, "Why don't I go to the hotel and check her room? Maybe she fell ill last night."

He really hoped that sick was all she was. He wouldn't jump to conclusions and expect the worst (like a disgruntled former client or mark exacting revenge or an Italian serial killer cutting her up into pieces in the alley) until he was certain she wasn't merely passed out in her room. Exactly three minutes (on the nose) after he knocked on room 329's door, it cracked open. Ariadne definitely wasn't planning on getting to the warehouse anytime soon judging from her pajamas, messy hair, and squinty eyes. Immediately upon laying her eyes on him, she grimaced and groaned, "Oh not you…of course you would show up." The Point Man tried not to let that sting but instead examined her watery eyes and wavering stance. Something was definitely wrong there. She leaned against the doorframe (still keeping the door as closed as she could), "I know you want to chastise me about being stupid right now but trust me, I've done that so much since I woke up, you would be proud."

Arthur inclined his head down. The signs were some he'd witnessed before. The intolerance of light, the slurred words, "Are you hung over?"

The Architect's middle fingers flew to her temples and started rubbing circles, "Please stop yelling…" Then her palms covered her eyes and her head leant against his chest, "I think I'm gonna be sick."

Oh God…the suit. He couldn't get vomit on the suit. Arthur gently (as much as he could, he didn't really know how) took hold of her elbows and guided her back into her room, "Let's sit you down," and made her get back up in bed. Her room was so messy. Clothes, notebooks, everywhere. Her sling dropped in the middle of the floor. Half eaten poptarts and flat sodas on the different surfaces. So very Ariadne. How did she live like that? Didn't she have anxiety attack from the clutter? While these questions did cross his mind, the one that kept coming back in bold italic font was, "Did Gavin not bring you back last night?"

"Well, he took me to this—uh," Her back slammed into the headboard when she tottered, "this really awesome karaoke bar," The girl went back to rubbing her head and squinted her eyes almost closed.

"What? On a work-night?" Arthur's voice raised and caused Ariadne to double over, "Arthur…too loud." His voice lowered then. Which was easy to do while gritting, "I'm going to cut his pay or…clock him." Was it really the work-night thing? Not exactly. Not if he was truthful—which he wouldn't be. Eames and a bunch of the guys often went for drinks after work during the week. Rarely, Ariadne joined them for a cocktail. It was more the fact that it was Gavin…and _he_ had come to work that morning. In sunglasses and closed off in his corner but he was able to get up and come. Yet, he let Ariadne get _that_ _drunk_ and insensitively hadn't checked on her or said word to the rest of team to cover for her absence. What a jerk.

"It was my idea…" Ariadne breathed guiltily. Needless to say, Arthur's eyebrows shot to the sky. "I don't remember how it came up but I said I'd never been to Karaoke…" swallow and loll of the head, "and he took me…and I needed a drink to loosen up…" her head fell into her lap in her hands, "and he kept encouraging me to try new—new ones. And there are soo many drinks I haven't had before…"

"Good lord," he huffed, "How much did you have to drink?"

"A few short glasses of whiskey—"

The Point chuckled there. That's it? He thought she'd be one of the women able to hold her alcohol. She didn't even know the correct terms, "You mean shots?"

"No," she made a face and measured with her hands, putting her thumb as far from the rest of her fingers as she could stretch, "Actual glasses…and two Coronas and a long island ice tea and a grape vodka with sprite and you know they make cotton candy martinis?"

Arthur was in shock from the list she named off, "Yes."

"I didn't. I had like four," admitted Ariadne, the heel of her palm digging into her forehead to relieve pressure.

He steered her down to lay on her side and placed the trash bin beside the bed right by her in case she needed it. "I bet you had a hellish night."

"I slept on the bathroom floor." There had been occasions where the Point Man visited the Cobbs while the children were sick. All huddled up and shivering in bed. Pitiful voices summoned from the back of the throat and scrunched up faces. Arthur always felt bad for them…and the parents too for having to tend to them while they were in such an icky state. He wouldn't voluntarily wipe snot from James' nose or hold Philippa's hair while she puked but…one look at Ariadne feeling so miserable and he'd do all that. It made him angry to think of her sleeping on the cold tile floor in agony all night because of that bastard Chemist. The Point asked if she'd taken any aspirin to which she replied that she couldn't physically get up and look for any. So he offered to run back up to his room and grab her a Ziploc full from his supply and a few ice packs from his duffle. "Don't go anywhere."

She groaned, "Oh, I'm not moving."  
xxxxxx

Arthur could not believe it. He just could not comprehend why Gavin would think it was alright to drag her to a club, pressure her into drinking heavily (was he monitoring her intake? Too much and she could kill herself. Gavin was aware of that right?!) and then expect her to fare by herself the next day. How drunk had Gavin gotten? Had he driven drunk? With her life in his hands? Her well-being his responsibility?! And then the worst thought imaginable popped into Arthur's head: Gavin was a chemist. He could formulate drugs. Had he drugged her? Was there a sedative or version of date rape slipped into one or all of her many, many drinks?

The Point Man returned within minutes, having taken her room key to get back in without disturbing her. He brought a bounty of water bottles from his mini bar as well. Arthur first made her sit up in bed, take the medicine and lie down with the pack to her head before he got down to the questions that had been firing around since he found out she had gotten that drunk. He got down on his knees by the side of her bed to be eye level and tried to put it delicately, "Did he take advantage of you?"

"What?" Maybe it was the head-splitting headache but he really didn't make sense.

"Did Gavin—" It was awkward, yes, but he needed to know. "—force anything that you weren't sober enough to consent to?"

Her answer didn't make him feel great, "I don't remember that much but I think he paid for my cab. He was a gentleman."

PAID. FOR. HER. CAB? You mean he didn't have the decency to go with her?! Arthur scoffed, "A gentleman that urges you to get drunk off your ass and then doesn't even see you back himself?" She didn't say anything just held her hand over her ears because he'd gotten too loud again. "I'll make him answer for this, Ariadne."

"No, I'm ok. It's not his fault."

"Like hell it's not." It was his own volume that made her feel sicker but he didn't assume so. He just got ticked off because her arms went to cover her eyes and she looked so utterly glum. He promised he'd check on her later and instructed her to drink all twelve water bottles by the time he did…and left.  
xxxxxx

Arthur was on a mission. He called Victor on the way back and came up with a reasonable explanation for Ariadne's self-ordered day off. The Extractor and Eames didn't need to know her personal business…the Forger would tease her undoubtedly. Upon arrival at the warehouse, he hadn't taken two steps in the door before he asked Gavin if he could have a word with him outside. The Chemist complied and strolled (took his merry time) outside and into the side street to the right of the building. Arthur opened up with a stern, "What the hell were you thinking taking Ariadne out and getting her soused in alcohol? Trying to get her fired?"

"All due respect," Gavin let his own hang-over show by massaging his eardrum after Arthur barked, "She got herself that plastered."

Arthur's arms crossed, "Did you take advantage of her?" There was no sugar-coating or hesitation when he grilled the Chemist. Arthur wanted a straight answer so he made a straight inquiry. No beating around the bush.

Gavin found the Point's allusions and overreaction funny. It was normal for a girl her age to get totally smashed every once and a while (especially at karaoke), it didn't make Gavin a pig because he was there too. He joked in a way that poked fun at Arthur, "I don't rape on the first date."

But The Point Man was going to have none of it. It wasn't the least bit comical to josh about a matter that serious. He snatched the Chemist by the collar of his shirt and rammed him into the brick wall, "If I find out you so much as looked at her the wrong way, I will slit you from navel to nose. Is that understood?"

On the norm, Arthur's dark, murderous eyes and anger laced threats would've intimidated the other man but Gavin remained unfazed. He still regarded Arthur with an expression of superiority. "I'll admit I'm attracted to our Architect…but I realize connection takes time and I'm not the kind of man to force a woman into something. Don't worry, though. When the time comes—and it will—I don't think Ariadne's consent will be a problem. She's obviously as interested in me as I am in her."

The suggestion that Ariadne would give her consent so freely and willingly to Gavin did something abnormal to Arthur. He felt his blood get hot and begin boiling…it rose up past his eyeballs and tinted everything in red. His chest constricted and he desired nothing more than to break something. That classless crook couldn't just waltz in and have the Architect at his whim just like that. It shouldn't be that easy for him. He didn't deserve her. Gavin was nowhere near good enough for Ariadne. He wasn't allowed to make love to her, Arthur wouldn't stand for it. "She's one of my good—My _best_ friend. If you hurt her…" The Point Man could barely get it out without it sounding like a growl. He huffed, bout-faced and marched back towards their workspace.

"It always hurts at first," goaded the Chemist with an evil grin. Arthur stopped in his tracks, every muscle tensed as if he'd pulled them all in one moment. He didn't give Gavin the satisfaction of turning around. He sucked in and pushed out a few good breaths, then kept going.

xxxxxx

The next time he knocked on her door, she answered quicker. With wet hair, fresh clothes and a towel around her shoulders. Ariadne had had all day to flush the alcohol out of her system and appeared to feel much, much better, just a hair rocky. The girl stepped aside to let him in. Arthur mused that she had cleaned up her room since he'd last been there. Her clothes were put up either in her suitcase or in drawers, the trash was cleared from the surfaces and her notebooks neatly stacked on her table. He held two plastic bags up for her scrutiny, "I brought two different meals because I wasn't sure what your stomach could handle. You can have the other for lunch tomorrow if you so desire." The Point Man set them both down (noticed all the empty bottles of water in the bin. Good for her.) and pulled out a large cup with a lid on it, "I got soup—egg drop—and some crackers." Ariadne nodded appreciatively and he pulled a takeout box from the other, "And breakfast for dinner…biscuits, gravy, eggs, bacon and toast." The Architect lunged for the box, grinning, "My favorite!"

He teased, "Certainly looks like you're feeling better. You have that strange appetite back." She nodded, already opening the box, sitting on the edge of her bed and opening the package of plastic dinnerware. Arthur smiled to himself. He was certain she would enjoy breakfast for dinner; he'd actually used some of his free time trying to locate somewhere that served that type of food there in Italy. He had to drive twenty minutes out of Rome to get it—but it was worth it. I mean, he needed time to himself and the drive was nice and quiet and the scenery was peaceful. Yes, that's truly why he did it. He headed for the door, "Enjoy."

Ariadne looked up from her beloved nourishment, "You're not going to stay a bit?"

He shrugged, "I have food in the car. I had to pick up for the whole team." There was a start in his belly that said it wished he would. Even a maximum of ten minutes. Arthur missed her attendance that day.

The girl scowled at the mention of the others, "Oh God…I'm so embarrassed. What do Vic and Eames think?"

"They don't know." Arthur reassured, "Gavin's keeping quiet to cover his ass and I told them you had a bad migraine and were feeling nauseous—which was true. Victor understands, he used to have chronic migraines as a teenager. Don't worry about it."

After a bite of egg she flashed him a sincere grin, "Thank you for actually being nice about this."

"Why is it that you never expect me to be nice to you?" Arthur wondered aloud, "Do I treat you that horribly?" If he came off that way, it was imperative he corrected it. One of his good friends (didn't he tell the Chemist they were _best _friends earlier? That was to make Arthur seem closer to her though.) shouldn't feel as if they were completely disposable. It should be standard he at the very least emitted cordiality.

She shook her head, "No, that's not it. What I did was stupid and unprofessional and … that is your biggest pet peeve." Wincing and chewing on bacon she added, "Out of every one, I figured you'd cause the most stink when you found out. I knew you'd be disappointed in me."

Oh yeah, sure, that sounded better…Instead of agreeing and warning her about a repeat performance, Arthur interestingly waved it off. Almost made up an excuse for her. "You don't normally drink though. This isn't an often occurrence."

"Have you ever been hung over?"

That was a hilarious question to him. Arthur? Out of control? "No. I monitor my intake. I'm very responsible when it comes to alcohol; once I'm pleasantly buzzed I st—" Ariadne's once open and conversational body language turned embarrassed and inward. The Point Man was causing her to feel bad about herself. Why was he so talented in unknowingly putting her down? And so awful at building her up? Arthur cleared his throat, "I didn't research Fischer thoroughly enough to know his subconscious was militarized. And I endangered the team in LA by dragging everyone to an abandoned meth lab. Everyone makes mistakes. Who am I to judge?"

"Well, _Point Man_, the rumor going around is that you're _perfect. _AndI thought you might hate me for it."

Arthur smirked and put his hand on the door handle, "I wouldn't worry about me hating you, Architect." Whoa, that sentence scared him. She smiled her aggravatingly coquettish smile and chomped on her toast. "I'll call when I leave the warehouse to see if you need anything before I head back."

"Thanks."  
xxxxxx

Arthur was second to last to leave work that night. A load of new intel came in from a contact Arthur had and he spent hours sorting through and organizing it. As soon, as the last file was dragged and dropped into its place, he snatched up his coat and headed out, throwing a quick wave to Victor. Again, he knocked on room 329's door earnestly. This time he could spend a few minutes with her. Fifteen or twenty if she felt up to it. Undoubtedly, Arthur didn't want to impose on her but it wasn't too late and he really intended just a small increment of time. With all of those peculiar new sensations he was feeling when he thought of her, he didn't trust himself to allow large quantities of time basking in her companionship. Not until he made sense of them. Five minutes later and she hadn't answered. So he knocked again. Another five minutes passed. Arthur maneuvered around the round boxes he was holding to balance them in one hand while he fished for his cell phone with the other.

"Hello?" All of the different voices in the background didn't sound like the tv. In fact, he'd pressed his ear to the door earlier and her tv wasn't even on. What was more, her lights looked off. He joked, "I suppose you're not in your room?"

Ariadne hiccupped a laugh, "No…um, Gavin came to check on me." Motherf—Arthur fought to keep his blood pressure low. He despised that guy. He absolutely could not stand him. "And I was feeling much better so he lugged me out to get some gelato. We're just chilling on the Spanish Steps." Gavin muttered a phrase that the Point couldn't understand through the noise and static but he heard Ariadne giggle and shush him away from the receiver. Arthur looked around at the empty hallway, checking to see if anyone was looking at him. They weren't so he swallowed hard, "That sounds like an excellent time. I'm just now leaving the warehouse and almost forgot I promised to call," he fabricated, leaning against her door. He was an exquisite liar, he had to give himself credit. Chocolate brown orbs stared at the number 329 blankly while he listened to her cheerily chime, "Thank you for remembering but I'm perfectly fine. I guess I'll see you at work."

The Point's jaw ground diminutively. _He _was the one who took the time and effort to take care of her all day and _Gavin _was the one to reap the reward for it? He forced a smile in case she could hear what his face looked like because she was good at picking up things like that about him, "Yes. Have a nice night." He let his face fall after re-pocketing his cell and looked down despondently at the two large bowls of caramel crème gelato in his hand…one scoop melting over the side and coating his thumb. The Point threw them in the garbage on his way up the stairwell to his floor.

Arthur didn't even care for gelato anyway. And wasn't sure what part of 'sticky, sugary, messiness and pointless conversation with a girl barely out of college' sounded like a good idea.  
xxxxxx

The Point Man kept exceedingly busy the next morning. Too occupied to talk to anyone (mostly the Architect), he frequently left his desk when he saw her headed his way to get ink for the printer, to check with Victor on progress and whatever other small tasks he could get away with doing. It wasn't that Arthur was upset with Ariadne… for what had she done wrong? He only said he'd call; she wasn't aware he had gone through the trouble of picking up dessert and planned to come hang out. (Hang out, was that the proper term? It sounded off.) No, he wasn't cross. He was almost hurt or disappointed and couldn't for the life of him figure out why. It was a letdown and an embarrassment when he showed up at her door and she'd actually been roaming the streets with the Chemist but no one else knew. It really wasn't a big deal, he just felt slighted. And it freaked him out to delve further into _why_.

They wrapped up their production meeting, each of them collecting their coffee cups and notepads and scurrying their separate ways. Ariadne scooped up her sketchbook and makeshift file of reference pictures and stood as Arthur scooted his chair back to walk off, "Hey, what are you doing for lunch?"

The man took a second to process she was speaking to him then halfheartedly shrugged, "I think it's Eames' turn to pick up so I'll most likely starve."

"Would you maybe wanna go to Semolina's?" It happened. Arthur was positive there was no coming back from his disillusionment with her but one flick of the eyebrow and his dismay was a goner. Her snarkiness was replaced with this honeyed and delightful upturn of her lips. Arthur yearned for nothing more than to take her by the waist and lean in to—HALT. Where had that come from? "Apparently they have the best lasagna in Rome…" A waterfall of warmth rushed from head to toe when she batted her eyelashes. She wasn't batting them, she was blinking but all Arthur saw were those fiery eyes and he contemplated calling 911 because his body was having a horrifying reaction. Why was this happening? It had never happened before around her. Maybe in moderation but…Lunch together sounded both frightening and magnificent. "I'm incapable of turning down a good lasagna," he fixed her with that smoldering smirk he pulled on her in the Fischer hotel. He wanted her to undergo the same fluttering and rippling sensations he was. When did he become so vengeful?

"Cool." She nodded, "I think Vic called ahead and told them we'd be there by eleven thirty or so." Why had he assumed it would be just the two of them? Ariadne had never hinted at that. He recovered easy enough by nodding.

It ended up that the entire team ate at Semolina's together. The Point Man observed the Parisian closely over the meal. (Closer than normal). Ariadne had a wonderful, lighthearted and charming friendship with the lot of them. It was at this lunch with the Architect surrounded by all these men she considered herself attached to—and they to her—that Arthur realized he wasn't any more special than the guy next to him. Or across.

It was at this lunch that he decided he wasn't okay with that.

Eames and Vic were on the other side discussing the differences between American English and The Queen's English and why people from other countries learn one over the other. Gavin was aggravating Arthur by trying to reminisce with Ariadne. What did they have to reminisce about? Little over a week of work, a few motorcycle rides and a ludicrous karaoke night. "Arthur, it was beauteous," The Chemist gushed, "she did this June Carter number so well, some drunk guy wanted her autograph and asked where Johnny was. It was hilarious; probably the best thing I've ever seen." Gavin's hand was rested on the booth extremely close to Ariadne's leg.

Arthur had enough of someone new coming in and making him feel like he and Ariadne were strangers and not the other way around. The Point Man pushed Gavin back as his arm went around the Architect's shoulders, "Well you haven't seen anything yet. You should see her impression of Belle from Beauty and the Beast." He nudged her with his side, "Remember that? Dancing around outside the restaurant in LA with James? Shopping for Pip's party and all?" Followed by a wink at Gavin, "The children would always bug us about being each other's Belle and Beast," he snickered and glanced down at her disbelieving gawp, "Looks like we found our Gaston, huh?"

Ariadne's amusement turned to shock. Actually, the entire table stopped and awkwardly furrowed their brows at him while he maniacally laughed. _Maniacally. _ Sounding forced and overexcited. At her scrunched face his hand shook her shoulder, "Oh you know I'm kidding, don't you, Ari?"

He was fine the minute before, she swore. Was he making fun of Gavin and the way he explained their nights out? Making a mockery of them? The Architect was struggling to decipher what exactly was going on. She didn't think it was genuine; it didn't sound like it. More than anything she was nervous about his mental health in that moment. Was he having a stroke? "What is wrong with you?"

Eames' panned, "Yeah, Mate, settle down." He stage whispered to Victor, "Never thought I'd have to tell him that."

Arthur sobered, finally realizing the woman wasn't laughing too. Or interweaving personal comments in. Honestly, instead of entertained or nostalgic…she appeared scared out of her wits. The Point's smile fell and his arm retracted, "I was just trying to be light and fun."

"Well, now we know why you aren't," Gavin quipped. "It's not natural."

Victor suggested, "Yes, Arthur. Stick to the stoned face prig thing. It suits you better." Arthur concurred and drank some of his water. Once everyone was convinced he was himself again, they went back to eating and conversating as they were before his outburst.

Arthur was trying to be more of a friend…it was cute, Ariadne thought, him stammering and clumsily (sort of overdramatically) attempting to seem cheerful and happy-go-lucky. Sure he looked insane but he was putting forth effort. It showed he cared, even if only minutely and even if he wouldn't voice it. And she loved the shortening of her name…and being pressed into his side. (Damnit, Ariadne. Stop.) Once, he turned his attention to her again, she declared, "Maybe that," her hands did circular motions in the air towards him, "was pretty weird but I think you should you keep calling me 'Ari'."

His head rotated, wiping the corner of his mouth with his napkin, "'Ari…?' You liked that?"

"I like you having a nickname for me."

Nothing was more persuasive than her stealing a fry off his plate and their shoulders brushing as a result. Arthur had to look under the table and make sure there weren't really sharp needles stabbing his foot.  
xxxxxxx

The next day of work, Arthur would arrive late due to an appointment he'd scheduled with a Dr. Esposito. He was a friend of the Professor's who worked with dream-sharers and spoke English. His office was in the rural area of Civitavecchia and he conveniently had a window of time open that morning at nine. Arthur felt out of place in the waiting room. Only the receptionist and a local waiting for his friend or family member to be finished were there. Dressed in simple, everyday clothing. The other man in the waiting room was probably a grape harvester judging from his red stained work shirt and overalls. The receptionist sat in a worn floral sundress. And there Arthur was in his three piece Gianni, trench coat, polished loafers and briefcase. The Team thought he was running errands for recon.

A teenager strolled out to the man in overalls (similarly dressed) and both went to leave momentarily before the Doctor came out and read off his clipboard, "Mr….Murdoch, is it?"

"Yes," The Point stood and gripped the Doctor's hand, "Hello, I'm Arthur."

He followed the white lab coat into one of the rooms (which thankfully looked more sterile than the outside of the building and waiting area). "Dr. Esposito. Miles referred you?"

"Yes sir." Setting down his briefcase, folding his trench coat and laying it on the side, Arthur sat on the table where Esposito gestured. He never liked the un-distinguished sound of the thin, tissue like paper they had to lay over the table for every new patient.

Dr. Esposito sat opposite him in a rolling chair and handed Arthur a thermometer to hold under his tongue, "What seems to be the problem son? You seemed very urgent on the phone."

"Yes. I…I've been noticing a startling change in myself around one of my co-workers. Very peculiar feelings arise when I'm around her." The tool beeped. The Doctor wrote down the temperature and then wrapped a blood pressure cuff around Arthur's upper arm. "Feelings that are difficult to control."

Esposito hummed, "Are these hostile feelings? Are you concerned for her safety around you?"

"No, no. I wouldn't harm her." The Point sucked in a breath as the cuff reached it tightest. "The feelings aren't mental. They're sensations manifesting themselves physically."

"Such as?" Just as quick and agile as Arthur was with the PASIV, the Doctor was with the cuff. He pulled it off, wrote down the numbers and then listened to Arthur's chest with a stethoscope.

"When we're in close proximity, my lungs burn. Sometimes my muscles ache. And—" He breathed deep, obeying the Doctor's instructions then went to retrieve something from his trench coat pocket while the Esposito made more notes. "—well I brought a napkin she used recently. Perhaps you could pull some DNA and do a test. I've done some research on my own and I think she has an electron imbalance in her cells because when she touches me, I feel a wave of electricity. It has to be a new development because I didn't use to be affected."

The man in white paused his pen in the middle of a word, "Mr. Murd—"

"I get clammy." He rubbed his hands together to check the dryness and they were fine because she wasn't there. "My speech pattern has been off; I fear my tongue's capabilities have diminished. It seems to go numb and get tied up. I don't think it's as serious as lockjaw, however."

Scratching the scruff on his chin, the Doctor further queried. "And all of this happens in your coworker's presence and only _her_ presence?"

"Yes sir. As I said, I brought the sample. We work in close quarters so I'm afraid whatever she's contracted is contagious." If they suspected so, he would bring Ariadne in. And if she had caught anything because of spending time with Gavin? And it was potentially harmful or life threatening? If he found out Gavin raped her that night after karaoke and gave her a disease? Gavin. Was. Dead.

Why was the MD smiling? And putting away his clipboard? "We can stop here."

"We're not even a minute in, Doctor," Arthur protested, standing up and preparing to give him a piece of his mind. He signed up for a full check-up. "How could you possibly have a sound diagnosis?"

"Because nothing is physically wrong with you Mr. Murdoch." Why the hell was the Doctor laughing? Arthur had _just _explained all the physical anomalies he was suffering from. How was nothing wrong? Ariadne was making him sick! "What's her name?"

What did that have to do with anything? "Ariadne Bourgeois."

What Esposito did next made Arthur feel uncomfortable. He took a hard, long peer into Arthur's eyes and then once-d him over. "Have you ever had these feelings for a woman before? Perhaps a high school sweetheart or recent flame?"

Arthur reared back like he'd been slapped, "That—" Now, he was frantically scanning the room for anything he could latch onto to stop the dizziness. "That's not what this is. It couldn't possibly be what this is. You see, I—"

"It is most certainly what this is Mr. Murdoch. You said her name unlike anything else you've said while in this office. And your pupils slightly dilated upon doing so."

"Because I'm ill." Arthur insisted.

The Doctor picked up his clipboard again and acted like he was ready to dismiss the client, "You have very, very strong feelings for this Ariadne. Sir, it is no sickness but love sickness."

As Esposito practically pushed him out and to the front the desk, Arthur scrabbled for purchase. Anything else that could be wrong with him or her or Italy. "Perhaps a psychological malfunction? A hormone imbalance?" As a last resort: "Is there anything you can prescribe to deaden these feelings?"

"Yes." The man ripped out a prescription page and handed it to the receptionist to give him when the payment had been negotiated and paid.

Arthur slammed the car door shut and threw his briefcase into the passenger seat. That was a waste of time. He wasn't sure why Miles had faith in the man; he clearly didn't like to work through all possibilities. He might as well have told Arthur he had malignant cancer, telling him he felt for Ariadne romantically. Out of curiosity he un-crumpled the page the desk-worker had given him with the receipt. If he did have such feelings for her—_if _was the key word!—he would need this medication to rectify it.

Here was his prescription: _Kiss Her._

Xxxxxxx

_Don't be alarmed if he takes you by the arm.  
I won't let him win but I'm a sucker for his charm.  
Trouble is a friend, yeah, trouble is a friend of mine.  
-_Trouble Is A Friend by Lenka

How about that? Will the Point Man accept it now? Do you guys like jealous Arthur? This is just a taste of it…I mean Gavin and Ariadne haven't even done anything of substance together yet. Who wants to see it? Or should we have some Ari/Art emotional and sexual tension first? Sort of a vote lol. Lemme know your thoughts.

Also his outburst in the restaurant…? Hahahahaha. Awkward, awkward man. 


	12. The Only Fault

_Lauraa-x: _The doctor thing…hahaha he was in such denial he convinced himself he had a disease transmitted from her presence ahahaha. I feel like either way, just because Arthur is so terrible at showing his emotions, Ariadne's going to get the wrong idea. Thanks for the input! I always love hearing your commentary. =) _Eirlys: _Yay! Well wonderful to hear from you! You have no idea how much I appreciate it. I hope future chapters give you the same feeling! _numbah435spiritsong: _Well he was told. He knows now but accepting that little booger of truth is another feat in itself. _lilachiccups: _OHMYGOD hey! I've missed hearing from you! Yes it has to get worse to get better. Arthur will probably be driven to the point of insanity before his logic filled walls will let him do something. Oh Ariadne realizes…she just…well you'll see.

Guess what? I was going to wait until Friday to try and update to give myself the whole week to write and tweak but your freaking reviews inspired me so much, I had many ideas crammed in my head and wrote on all of my breaks so…update is today! In conclusion, thank you so so much for your kind (and sometimes funny) words. They helped me create this:

**Chapter 12: Only Fault**

Arthur was still having trouble accepting his diagnosis. Or "condition". Arthur went out of his way to use any term but "feelings". The piece of prescription paper was neatly folded and hidden between pages of the phonebook in his hotel room. That way unless someone was nosy, no visitors would happen upon the note. Eames was…but number one: he never let him into his room. And number two: he wouldn't look in the phonebook. So Arthur was covered on all sides. Denying what those sensations really were did nothing to make them wane. His stomach still clenched up in knots if even their clothes brushed. And his name from her lips made the knots do flips. It was truly painful. Why anyone would want to experience romance was lost on him.

Just as his "circumstance" hadn't waned, neither had Mr. Russo's attentions. The thing about Ariadne was that she made friends rather quickly. And the thing about Gavin was that he wasn't Arthur; he didn't resist and slow down the rate of getting to know each other. If anything he accelerated it. Sometimes Arthur would be getting out of his car in the mornings and the Ducati would come racing up into the parking spot behind him, the Chemist laughing his head off and the Architect squealing like she was on a rollercoaster instead of a glorified bicycle. Times like that he had no qualms calling his condition feelings and pondering how many ways he could total the bike by backing up his car and call it an accident. The Point Man would've sworn on limbo that Gavin was trying to take over his life. (He didn't wear three pieces or gel his hair or use a briefcase or really anything to be like Arthur other than stealing all of Ariadne's free time but Arthur was "sick", he could exaggerate if he wanted.) The Parisian would saunter in every morning right at 9:04 (up to 9:07 depending on the traffic and whether or not she rode with the Chemist in which case she'd already be there) and she'd give Arthur a playful wave on her way past but guess who's desk she'd sit on? And the Point Man had even taken the trouble to clear off her spot on the corner of his just in case Ariadne thought he didn't welcome it and that's what had changed. He missed her coming to his space and making a mess of things. He missed feeling uncomfortable under her stare. He missed how they used to be before the Italian came into the picture. You know what that say about not realizing how much you crave someone's special treatment until they give up on you and give it to someone else? Arthur never believed it until now.

Arthur saw the light in her corner shut off out of his peripheral vision. Saw her outline throw her messenger over her head and put her jacket on. Ready for the routine, Arthur delved back into his typing to avoid watching them leave together. But Ariadne stopped at his desk. "I think I'm gonna turn in." The Point Man checked the time on the clock and nodded. She'd been there twelve hours, that was overtime for Architects. Arthur didn't bother looking up at her. Why should he acknowledge her? She barely acknowledged him anymore. "Gavin taking you?"

"No. I called a cab. He's…" she looked around the room and settled on The Chemist's area as Arthur's eyes shot up to her, "He's testing a compound on Eames."

The Point Man decided he would take advantage of Gavin's pre-occupation. This was his chance to get his friend back. "Forget the cab. Why don't I drive you?"

Shrugging, Ariadne reasoned, "If you're not busy."

Arthur grabbed his coat and his wallet. "Not busy enough to let you take a cab." He was coming back after so he could leave everything else as it was. Including the eighteen documents pending review…

The lights in Italy were warm. Everything lit up like the dimming glow of a fire and reflected off his rental BMW beautifully. Ariadne adjusted the air conditioning vent more towards her and leant back to watch through the window again. The whole city was an architectural work of art. She was continuously amazed by it. "How are you liking Rome?" Arthur asked the first conversational thing to pop into his head just to get them talking. When he thought about it later, it spoke volumes that she (the girl who talked and talked to fill space) was comfortable sharing a ride in silence. It spoke louder volumes that he (who preferred the lack of discussion) felt the need to try and engage.

"I'm enchanted." He glanced at her but she didn't take her eyes off the whirring sights. "It's different than Paris but magical in its own way, you know? I can't stop looking at it." He on the other hand, hadn't enjoyed Italy so far for obvious Italian Model reasons but hummed to agree. "That's kind of why I like riding the bike, cause then you feel more a part of it instead of looking at it through glass. Gav has shown me just about everything beautiful in the city."

Inwardly, the Point Man scowled. Personally, he didn't care for nicknames. Cobb occasionally called him Art but that was the extent and he was never real thrilled about it. He was named Arthur, call him Arthur. I mean, he wouldn't refuse if she started calling him Art…or even went so ridiculously far to call him Artie. It was perky but he'd accept it out of the principle that it meant he was important or special to Ariadne. Point Man and Architect were the closest thing they had but lately he wasn't even that to her. And now Gavin was Gav. Outwardly, he pretended to be impervious. "It's nice that you and Gavin have made an effort at comradery. It's beneficial for the morale of the team."

"Yeah," Ariadne half laughed. Sure, she was getting close to the Chemist for the benefit of _the team. _That was it…Arthur was too occupationally-minded for his own good. "It's really easy though. He's great." Gavin Russo had his faults. He was overtly sensual (but so was Eames), he was slightly in love with himself (but she guessed Arthur was too to an extent), he was wild (but that was a nice change. About time she had some criminal fun) and he flirted constantly. Well…Ariadne didn't see the last one as a fault. Ariadne wasn't blind and stupid. She could see the Chemist was who every parent on the planet would warn their daughter against. It wasn't that she thought she could (or desired to) change him…but hey, it wasn't working out with the good guy…might as well live it up with the bad one. It wasn't going to go anywhere but he made Ariadne feel desirable and no one had really ever taken that much of a blatant interest in her. She liked it. So she accepted it. A fling with a motorcycle man in the heart of Italy was every twenty something year old's fantasy right? Besides, if they were counting faults, the Point Man had more of them: Distant, hardheaded, cold, spoilsport, unfeeling, oblivious, anal…need she go on? Or was her point made? Hah, _point_.

"He's not bad I suppose," panned Arthur while he glared at the road. That was a lie. If Gavin was anything, he was a whole galaxy of bad.

Ariadne gushed. She didn't mean to out of any ulterior motive, she'd just learned so many interesting things about the Chemist that it was fun to share. "He's so exciting. You know, he's like that bad boy I never got to date in high school."

The car screeched to a stop at the red light. The same abrupt, jolting, slam as the wheels in the Point Man's mind. Peering stiffly at her, he interrogated, "_Are _you dating?" It was about to sound like a lecture but he didn't know how else to deter her, "Because I'm not so sure—for the dynamic of the group—if that's a good id—"

"No." Her expression made him feel stupid. "We're just messing around." That wasn't any better but relief still flooded through Arthur in a sweet rush. At least they weren't exclusive. The Point Man was unsure how he'd handle that after feeling the freezing over of his blood at the mere implication. The girl widened her eyes, recalling the disbelief she felt in the moment she was fixing to bring up, "He tried to pressure me into getting a tattoo the other night."

"What?" A honk behind them alerted the Point of the green light so he stepped on the gas again. "I mean it's your body but you don't need—"

"Oh I didn't." She was quick to address, "I'm still getting used to plugging myself into the PASIV. The idea of a tiny sharp sword jabbing me repeatedly anywhere on my person is not a pleasant one. But I watched him get one—or another one. He has like twenty." Ariadne rolled her eyes. Arthur squinted his. Only three were visible in the clothes he wore to the warehouse…he hoped Gavin had only told her of them. "It was cool though. He got a keyhole on his ankle with 'curiouser and curiouser' from Alice in Wonderland. I got to thinking what I would get _if_ I were brave enough. I have no idea. But it'd have to be small so it wouldn't hurt too bad." He'd been quiet a while so she decided to engage him again, "What would you get?" Then her mischievous face came out to play, "Or do you already have one?" Arthur wished he didn't have to watch the road so closely because he knew what face she was making and he missed seeing it displayed for him. (And only him.)

He settled for shooting down the practice as a jab to the Chemist. "No. I don't believe in them. No criticism to anyone who wants or has one but for me personally I wouldn't feel professional. And even if I was interested, I don't think there's a single saying or symbol I would want on me forever. Permanence isn't my thing, as you know."

"Well…" she shrugged halfheartedly and turned back towards the window. The Point mentally kicked himself for snuffing out the conversation. But after a moment, suddenly, Ariadne jolted and faced him completely, "Can we stop by the Trevi Fountain? That's the only place Gav hasn't shown me yet. I bet no one's there this time of night."

"Sure." The blinker to turn the corner and backtrack to the tourist spot was clicked as soon as she asked. If not only because she asked but because it was something Gavin hadn't done yet. The car slowed to a stop on the curb across the street from it and Ariadne hopped out faster than he could remove his seatbelt. Arthur kept his eye on her head skipping to the fountain over the roof of the car as he walked around. Once, he'd made it to her side, she breathed, "Wow. The way it's all lit up…" Arthur followed Ariadne dutifully and (admittedly bored) around the edge of it. Stopping in the middle, the Architect leaned forward to look into the waters. What exactly was she searching for? Instinctively, his hands held out in case she fell in. When she stood tall again her hand curiously stuffed into her pocket and dug around.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking for a euro…" her tongue stuck out as a result of her hard work and determination, "I wanna make a wish."

Arthur scanned the waters and the plethora of coins inside, "I hate to burst your bubble, Ari, but even if wishes were reliable means to receive something—" He hoped she was listening to his logic. He already sensed her head detaching and floating to the clouds. The Architect pulled out a euro and squealed. "—There are a billion other wishes to be granted before yours."

Ariadne shot him a bemused, judgmental stare, "Your optimism is so charming." Per usual, she ignored his silly reasoning and turned her back to the fountain while placing the coin on her thumb.

Not that he didn't admire her childlike spirit but seriously? "You're really doing this?"

Why did he think that being dreary and solemn all the time made him more mature? Ariadne replied, "I'm a tourist. I must do the touristy thing."

"You know the probability of it actually coming true is near impossible—"

"'Impossible'…" she paused just as she was fixing to toss her coin. "Is that your favorite word or something? You use it a shit-ton." Ariadne complained.

Arthur shrugged, "You have to admit that—"

"Shut up, Point Man." He did so. If not because of the fiery tone than because she used his nickname. Her eyes squeezed shut. Patiently, Arthur blew air out of his cheeks and observed the night sky. How long did it take, for goodness sake? Plunk. She spun around and peered for it as if she could pick out which one was hers among the thousands. "Did it go in?"

Arthur chided and facetiously gestured to the vast area in front of them, "It'd be hard to miss…" His tactic changed when he didn't receive the desired result. Ariadne didn't crack a laugh or even a smile at him. He supposed he could play along. "What did you wish for?"

"I can't tell you, it won't come true." Ariadne was gauging his attitude and waiting for him to shoot down her blind faith in the impossible, he knew it. So he kept quiet and nodded. Insisting on his belief versus hers would further alienate her. The girl looked back at the Fountain and tilted her head to admire it.

Was there a sudden chill in the air? When did the streetlights begin to sparkle? Arthur's gaze wondered down her lit up features to the small hand dangling at her side. His hands had never felt unpleasantly empty before. An emptiness he knew in that moment could only be filled by a young, snarky Parisian's equally empty hand. For the first time in Arthur's career, he didn't have to guess what loneliness was. He _felt it _from the hairs on his head to the blood cells in his veins. It wasn't the first time he needed something or someone but it was the first time he wholly accepted that that something or someone may be Ariadne. The first time he saw her as a puzzle piece that had to have been shaped to fit his. It would be too much to brush his fingers against hers and pretend it was an accident, wouldn't it? "Ok, I'm good," she stated, broke the reverie and pivoted to head back to the car. He'd made her feel as though her eagerness to make a wish in the fountain was juvenile. Laughable. Hadn't he? He'd been that crotchety, grave robot again. Ariadne wasn't mad at him but the rest of the car ride and the goodbye would be quiet and short. With recent recognitions…being ignored by her would physically hurt him. Arthur cussed at himself and then called, "Wait."

While her shoes made lazy scuffs on the pavement on their way back to him, he fished in his pockets for a piece of change he knew he had in there somewhere. Once his fingers closed around a lone euro, he pulled it out and revealed it to her. The Architect's arms crossed. She raised one eyebrow but Arthur detected the hint of a smile so he knew he was on the right track. He turned his back to the fountain like she had and held the coin loosely. His eyes closed for a second…then opened, "Do you mind?"

"Oh…I didn't realize throwing a coin was so intimate," snorted Ariadne, "I'll turn around and give you two some privacy." Arthur smirked to himself at her retorts. Then shut his lids again to make his wish. He thought about it—I mean, he knew what he wanted. It was bursting from the seams now. His mind came up with it easily because his mind is where he'd trapped the desire. And in the past couple minutes it broke free. Rattling around in there. But then he thought about how he should word it. Was it an 'I wish for' type situation? Or was it like a prayer? Or—and then his better judgment kicked in and he realized how stupid it was that he, a grown man, was hoping on coins and cultural myths. Arthur gritted his teeth and put the hand with the coin into his pocket, ready to leave. Ready to do some heavy meditating and rid himself of this sudden, impulsive infatuation.

Ariadne was swaying back and forth, arms folded over her chest and head tilted, doing her best to be persistent in her patience. Humming something incoherently to herself. So small, so lonely-looking in the middle of the deserted tourist spot. It stopped him in his tracks and made him fiddle with the coin between his fingers again. Passing it through the crevices between digits, proving to himself how unfilled they were. "Are you done yet?"

"Hold your horses," he ordered while the euro resurfaced.

"What are you doing? Reciting the Declaration of Independence to it or something?"

"Shut up. It's impossible to concentrate with you yacking on." His scolding lacked ugliness. In fact, he spat it out with a smile.

Her sing-song voice filled him up and pushed out laughter, "That's that word again…" Then it dropped to mock him, "Impossible, impossible blah blah impossible." How was it that she could make fun of him and it made him happy? Giddy, even, to be poked and badgered? If wishes really worked, there was no coming back from this. He threw his caution to the wind. To hell with it. Watching her back with a fond and appreciative gaze, he flicked his wrist and let the coin fly before he could talk himself out of it again. After the sound of it hitting the water and his check to make sure there were ripples, he walked up behind her and smiled over her shoulder, "Alright, we can go."

"About time Molasses. What did you wish for?" pried Ariadne as the door unlocked and she slid into her seat contentedly.

"I can't tell you." The engine started up, "I want it to come true."

xxxxxxx

He hadn't been drinking enough water lately, clearly. Because he just could not focus on anything. Arthur's head was in the clouds where Ariadne lived half the time. For instance, right at this moment he was supposed to be committing Ariadne's model of his level to memory. Questioning anything that didn't make sense. Taking note of secret passageways and hidden stairwells. The Architect had actually taught him the day previous but when they went under that morning to look at his interpretation of it, it was totally botched. Not because he was incapable, not because the level was difficult…because he hadn't been paying attention. He'd been preoccupied with the insects feeding on the intestines of his stomach and fluttering around playing when she spoke. Week seven was right around the corner…he needed to pull his act together. "Earth to Point Man! What are you staring at?"

Had he been staring? Right, he was zoned out on a familiar pattern of fabric. "Your scarf." Arthur knew he was in deep despite the denial he continuously pumped himself full of. Denial he knew was futile. It was harder and harder to believe he _wasn't_ enamored with her than believing that he _was_. The man remembered getting this way with Mal…reduced to the barest of vocabulary.

Ariadne gave him a sarcastic deadpan, "I do tend to wear those if you hadn't noticed."

"Yeah but it's mine." His? What was that? Nothing of Ariadne's was his. That sounded idiotic, hadn't it? Curse his stupid brain. "Or—the one I gave you in Carolina." He was quick to correct and spiritlessly gestured towards it, "I'm glad you like it enough to wear it."

Luckily, Ariadne couldn't see the turmoil going through him. On the outside he seemed as stoic and bored stiff as normal. She looked down at it as if she forgot what it looked like, "I wear it too much actually." Then she sheepishly fingered the edge of it, "Ask my friends. It's one of my favorites."

"The colors are nice," he nodded, suggesting that the bold hues were the quality that made it a favorite.

"Comfortable material too," offered Ariadne, letting her hand fall. "Some scarves are too hot to wear this time of year." The Point man lifted his hand to concur then his eyes roamed over her shoulder to Eames who sat smugly studying them. "And you got it for me." The Forger was forgotten completely in favor of her lively admission, "It's like wearable proof that the Point Man actually tolerates me." The Architect must've figured that their session was over because she handed him a copy of her sketches ( she knew he liked to take them back to his desk or hotel room and really analyze them) and moved the model off her worktable to another. Once she moved back to her spot Arthur wondered aloud, "Are you hungry?"

"Getting there." It looked like she was packing up for the night. That was the only time she even made an effort to straighten up her desk and throw trash away.

"I think Vic was going to have me run down the street to Ristorante Molino and pick up take away." The man watched as she pushed her chair in and shoved the necessities back into her bag, "Would you mind keeping me company on the walk?"

Her smart phone got pulled out and checked, "What time is it?"

"Half past six," stated the man factually, following a glance at his watch.

Ariadne peered at her screen, reading something and then began to type on it. Biting that bottom lip. She distractedly uttered, "Gavin wanted to meet me at some cool eatery he found around seven."

Blown off for the Chemist again. It was getting outrageous. Upset with her, he picked up his folder of references and commented curtly, "Well that sounds better anyway."

"Make Eames get Vic's food and come with us," she implored, tucking the device away. Innocent eyes said she didn't mean to disregard him. And a hopeful smile showed her genuine yearning for his presence.

He rejected, nonchalant, "I wouldn't want to intrude." The sketches were folded up and stored in his inside jacket pocket, "I wasn't invited."

"_I'm_ inviting you," her hands plopped onto his shoulders. Involuntarily, he imagined her graphite smudged fingers running down his chest and filling the voids between his digits. (Spaces that never felt filled since the Trevi.)

Arthur shot a cursory look at their Extractor and denied her request again, "I already told Vic I would. Have fun." He traipsed away; his pride unwilling to let any form of dejection show.

Ariadne wanted Arthur to care. Friendship was a two sided road, she couldn't do all the pulling and reaching and inviting. He'd just taken a step in the direction she wanted him to and she was going to dismiss it? Maybe she wanted to spice up her life with the Chemist but…she didn't want to forfeit her relationship with Arthur to do so. She spent long enough struggling to get it to the point it was at. "I mean, it wouldn't take us longer than thirty minutes to grab food, would it?" She called behind him.

He smirked to himself before twisting back, "They serve fast. Especially so for take away."

Ariadne bit her lip (again. She was taunting him, had to be), threw on her jacket (when did she start donning a leather one?) and power-walked to catch up with him, "Since when I have been on time to meet somewhere anyway?"  
xxxxxx

Ristorante Molino was always, always, crowded because of the small space and hoards of people. The food came out in record time and you could be in and out in a jiffy if you didn't want to dine in their establishment. Mostly, the lines were to find somewhere to sit and if you ordered ahead, a lot of times you could receive your meal before you found a table. That's what made it the perfect place on the corner to grab takeout for the Team. Ariadne stayed back by the door on Arthur's request so she wouldn't have to push through and be trampled on by individuals with no concept of space while he ordered one lasagna, two spaghetti plates and fresh bread.

After receiving his ticket he squeezed back to where she stood to wait. "Scuse, scuse" a local stepped around Arthur and shoved him causing him to trip forward and catch himself on the wall behind Ariadne's head. Their noses touched lightly and the Architect's cheeks lit up with crimson. "Sorry," Arthur murmured, out of breath from the close proximity. He couldn't move back yet, a family of four were trying to squash between him and the line. Arthur glimpsed back at them and stood straight up but took a step closer to Ariadne to give them more room to pass. He gazed down at her: her head turned to the side, her bottom lip between her teeth and her one foot bouncing up and down.

The Architect would've been devastated that all that time with the Chemist hadn't deadened her feelings for Arthur—that she hadn't even begun to get over him—if she could focus on anything but their skin. His face so close she could feel the stubble on his jaw. The hallucinogenic effect of his cologne, of the coffee on his breath as puffs of it glided over her and went straight to her toes. Ariadne could feel him with her eyelashes as she blinked, staring at his lips. Not daring to look into his eyes for fear of losing her composure and self-control and jumping the man in the middle of the restaurant.

Their bodies were dangerously close to touching. If they inhaled at the same time, the faintest of connection was made. Blissful torture you could call it. The Point Man had a moment of weakness and nearly pretended another person rammed into him so he could close the distance and watch her turn red again. Arthur loved doing that…making her flustered (was that sadistic?) and he greatly burned to know what it felt like to press his body against hers. His hard lines against her soft curves. His crisp suit jacket wrinkling against that worn out cardigan and ridiculous t-shirt. It could be considered an exceptional feat that he kept his breathing at a normal rate—he couldn't speak for his heartbeat though. The din of other patrons, the sizzling of plates, the frantic orders and myriads of onlookers faded out so that all he heard was the air coming in and out of her mouth and all he saw were chapped, red lips that the Doctor _ordered _him to kiss.

Ariadne's hand enclosed over some of his fingers and yanked his eyes downward to check if electricity was actually shooting out of them. Was he having a heart-attack? One of the symptoms they warn about is feeling sharp pain in your right arm and tightness in your chest just before you're fixing to suffer from one…He wouldn't doubt if this encounter caused heart failure, it was overworking itself. Ariadne was his undoing. She would kill him one way or another. It was all clear as day now. The pain lessened when he realized she wasn't grabbing his hand to hold it but to look at the receipt in it, "Number423…that's you." Arthur gulped inconspicuously and fisted his hand to make it stop. He found he had to tear himself away from their position to grab the food. He could've stayed there, with her, like that, all day without complaint.

They didn't speak much on the way back to the warehouse. Ariadne dominated the discussion which was mostly about the quality of Ristorante Molino's spaghetti and how unbelievably popular the eatery seemed to be. Partly, because Arthur was rendered useless in contributing to the topic. All he could think about was how he needed to be that close together again. How suddenly the foot of sidewalk in between them seemed like a galaxy away. Arthur toyed with the idea of visiting the Trevi again…perhaps a few more wishes of the same nature would enhance his chances of them coming true.

Unfortunately, his tightlipped outer shell convinced Ariadne he was repulsed by being so close. Her undying interest in the street signs and need to babble on about how good the bread smelled were attempts to distract Arthur from her shakiness. And herself from the memory ingrained into her skin. It buzzed and threatened to pop off.

Xxxxxxx

The last level to be worked on was where the heavy emotional guns needed to be sheathed and fired. The research revealed the mark's close relationship with his Uncle and further digging uncovered family property in Florence. Villas that the mark's grandparents and uncle had lived in during his early developmental years. Places integral to his childhood that would be nostalgic and therefore persuasive. After deciding with the Extractor, Arthur strolled to the Architect's area to give her the news. Gavin was there…watching her shave cardboard like a cat and mouse. Straightening his suit jacket and clearing his throat, Arthur entered her space. "Vic decided we'd go with your country cottage idea. Rizzio's uncle lived in Florence while he was growing up so he'd be comfortable in that environment."

Ariadne continued to cut and glue, "Is the atmosphere incredibly unlike Rome?"

"It's definitely a change," he admitted, coming up behind her and looking at her work over her shoulder. Making her cutting arm falter briefly, anticipating a repeat of the restaurant incident but without satiation. "Rome is busy and touristy…Florence would be quieter."

This is where the Chemist helpfully chimed, "My family has a vacation villa out in Florence. I could take Ariadne for a few days. Let her experience the nature of it." That's right. Gavin could be serious and thoughtful. Even useful. Arthur just chose to dwell on his errors. That's why the Point was skeptical. However, being logical, the offer was generous and Ariadne _needed_ to know how that part of Italy should be portrayed in the level. He would settle the details and all would be fine. "How big is the house? What would be the sleeping arrangements?"

"Not much," simpered the curly topped man, licking his lips at a giggling Architect. Usefulness gone in the blink of an eye. Gavin was a liability to the operation if anything. The Point Man steeled into a tower of negativity. Voice booming, "Absolutely not."

"Arthur," reprimanded the woman, turning with her hands on her hips.

Enunciating each word so she wouldn't miss a single one, he clarified, "We're here to work."

See, if Arthur just knew how to take a gag. He took everything too seriously. That's why he constantly got offended. "He's just joking," she countered still coming off too amused by the insinuation for Arthur's taste.

Her sheer will might've persuaded the Point if Gavin had not winked, "Only if you want me to be, Princess." She threw a pencil at him and rounded the table to glue some parapets down on the opposite side.

No. It was an absolute no. Arthur would be damned if he let Ariadne and Gavin go off by themselves. No telling what would transpire. (How much more ground would Arthur lose with her?) The Architect and Chemist had bonded enough; they didn't need any more opportunity. "I'll find you plenty of pictures. Maybe I can scrounge up some video as well."

Engrossed in her miniature Penrose staircase, Ariadne continued to make points for her argument, "Cobb always taught me that it isn't about the look, it's about the feel."

"Yeah, Boss," The Chemist comfortably slid behind the Architect like Arthur had done upon arrival. But instead of resting his hands on the table, he ran them along Ariadne's waist and then grazed one down toward her hip, "it's the _feel."_

As expected, Ariadne blushed bright tomato red (in the midst of laughing) and pulled his hands off (the spaces of her fingers in the spaces of Gavin's, Arthur begrudgingly noticed), "Stop or he'll never let us go."

Flabbergasted by witnessing the contact, Arthur became livid. Livid that Gavin touched her that way and that Ariadne had let him. That her puzzle pieces were fitting together with someone else's. "I said no and I mean no." He pivoted on a dime and stormed to his desk, having a hard time handling the jealousy eating away on his tendons.

Ariadne clicked her tongue at Gav, "Let me handle this."  
xxxxxxx

Arthur was already in the process of googling beneficial references to Florence when Ariadne's lower half plopped onto her corner of his desk. "You're not my keeper, you know." He ignored her, sifting through results of tourism sites and local blogs. "Job comes first. I'm responsible enough to honor that. I'm going for the architecture, that's it." Still, his eyes and ears appeared glued to the screen while he bookmarked and took screenshots. To wrestle his attention away from the device she pitched her voice louder. "Your _micro-managing _isn't helping the cause at all. Unless you're trying to set me up for failure so I'll get killed."

That did the trick. How dare Ariadne even allude to that? He pushed his laptop back and turned his chair towards her with a flourish, "You know I wouldn't. I'm just being protective."

"I don't need your protection."

He wanted her to need _something _from him. If it wasn't his care or devotion or car ride or advice or protection, what was it? Did he mean nothing to her? That was going overboard, he knew he did. But not enough. Would it ever be enough? "He's a _bad_ guy, Ariadne," Arthur reasoned that if there was anything she truly needed, It was his warning.

"No he's not," sighed his friend in defense, "He's just a flirt." The Point Man held back a groan. Was Ariadne oblivious? Gavin was the definition of trouble, of heartbreaker. He would hurt her one way or another. Physically, mentally, emotionally. Any combination of the three. Arthur was trying to save her from all that. Never mind that if the Chemist turned out to be everything she ever wanted, if they became lovers…then it would kill Arthur. Physically, mentally, emotionally. Any combination of the three. It was scary to think that she couldn't foresee it. Even scarier to think she could but didn't care. "Besides you wouldn't hire someone incredibly dangerous and then turn around and hire me the next day. Miles would have your head."

His palm wiped down his face tiredly preceding a compromise, "Fine. We'll all go." Yes. That was the perfect solution. Neither the Chemist nor the Architect would make a move on each other if the team were present. They would be forced to stay distant and collegial. Arthur figuratively patted his back too soon. Ariadne (and her swinging appendages) came back with, "That's unnecessary. We don't need supervision; we're not teenagers." And after the Point Man leveled a look at her, she leaned back. Like he punched her. "Do you not trust me?"

Incredible. Arthur wanted to keep an eye on her. Like she was his daughter or younger sister or even a piece of his property. How demeaning could he get? How much disrespect was that showing? Implying that she couldn't control her urges if alone with Gavin. That she couldn't push back feelings for him for the sake of the job on her own. Well, Arthur would be extremely surprised to know she _was _capable. After all, how long had she been reeling her feelings for the Point Man back? THEIR ENTIRE CAREER TOGETHER. The governing asshole…

"I trust you." And the Point tried to convey that to her as potently as possible with his gaze. "I don't trust him…not since he got you drunk."

Ariadne bit back. The feminist in her was coming out like a lion released from its cage at the zoo. Hating the idea that she couldn't make choices for herself, good or bad. "I got myself drunk."

Arthur held his hands out to calm her down and pitched his idea, "We'll all fly in Friday night, I'll give you Saturday to see what you need and we'll all fly back Saturday night. You don't even need to stay in his house."

'Don't even need'. Who was the governing asshole trying to kid? How thorough an understanding of a place could you get in one day? It took her a month to discover the ins and outs and characteristic sensations of Paris. Sure Florence was smaller and far less busy (so she was told) but a day didn't give her ample time. Not to produce the quality of work she wanted to. And he was only acting this way out of pure suspicion. Mistrust. Even if he trusted her not to pounce on Gavin, he still didn't trust that she could fend Gavin off or give him a satisfying enough 'no' to stop him if she wanted. She could handle herself. Where did Arthur get off thinking he was some sort of knight in shining armor? He didn't even believe in those. Pissed off, Ariadne hopped down from his desk and made a beeline for the exit, snatching her bag and throwing it over her head while she stomped.

"Ari," Arthur bellowed when she snatched the bag. "Ariadne," he sternly shouted and stood when she slammed the door. In a matter of seconds, he too stormed outside. Looking both ways and spotting her retreating form on the left, he jogged to catch up and grab her arm, "Where are you going?"

Pursing her lips, she curtly hissed in reply, "Since I'm so loose, I figured I'd quit and join the whorehouse; have any condoms I can borrow?"

"Stop it," grated the Point Man. He couldn't stand the idea whether she was being satirical or not. "It's my job to be concerned for your safety." It sounded like scolding. Arthur knew it sounded like scolding but he could not rein it in. Ariadne was forcing him to put on the mask and be inflexible.

Of course. _Job_. Job, job, job, job, job. Arthur could never admit that his motive was for something other than their mission. He couldn't just tell her he was concerned about her…end of story. He had to throw it in there that it was his job. Part of the occupational description. Like if it wasn't one of his duties, he would care less about her. Or not at all. Her safety didn't _really _matter to him. His profession did. And since her safety was one of the boxes on his checklist…by default she mattered. Arthur made Ariadne _so angry_. Because there were so many things she would do for him, so many things she would give and he just wouldn't take them. He wouldn't reciprocate. He _couldn't. _It was like having inextinguishable, raw, feelings for a freaking rock. No force on earth could make a rock love you back. Rocks are inanimate. They don't know feelings exist much less what they are. They can't feel it when they're thrown or broken or scratched so how could they feel emotion? Pain, jealousy, sadness, loneliness, affection? They can't. "What's so unsafe about a research trip to Florence with our Chemist?" The tides changed and made her feel more hurt than angry, so she compensated by reprimanding him. Calling him out on failure at his _job._ "And your _job _is to make sure every detail is handled so that the Team is prepared. Right now, you're hindering me from being prepared."

"I am not." He persevered. "I said we would all go. You'll have your research." Arthur was providing what was necessary: A look at Florence. He wasn't keeping her from going just from going with only the Chemist. Why was that a big deal? Did she not want Arthur there? And why? What couldn't they do around Arthur? He had an inkling of what. And it made his blood boil. "Why are you so upset you can't go alone?"

Accusing. Arthur was nothing but accusatory and demanding. What was wrong with him? Ariadne cleared that right up for him, "It's not that we won't be alone. It's that you seem like you don't trust us alone." And for extra bite she added under her breath, "Like you have the authority to dictate what we do off the clock, anyway…"

The Suit didn't miss it. Nothing of Ariadne got passed him, even when he was overwhelmed with irritation, ire and hurt because of her. Wisely, he made no comment. He pulled a logical reason out of his ass and feigned more professionalism (unwisely), "We all have to be in that level. It would be beneficial for the entire team to take the trip."

'It would be beneficial—blah blah' was he a person or Siri? The Architect was getting a bit too fed up with this bullshit. Eames was the only other person (since it was his level) that would benefit from the trip. That was taking Arthur and Victor away from work that needed to be done just so Arthur could babysit. For all that talk of work, his new idea sure scoffed at it. "I know you. You would've suggested that as soon as it was brought up. The _whole_ team was an afterthought." She aimlessly glanced at some passersby and lowered her volume a tad. Folding her arms across her chest, Ariadne tested, "What, you think I can't control myself because I'm attracted to him?"

Why did Ariadne have to be open about it? Why couldn't her fascination with Gavin be secretive? Hearing her admit it out loud for (what?) the third time wasn't the least bit comforting. Arthur shook his head, "It's not you; it's how it looks. It doesn't look professional."

Always worried about appearances, that one. His dreamshare image. The Architect honestly wanted to know even if some slight sarcasm slipped in, "Why do you care? It's not _you_."

That was exactly _why_ he cared. It wasn't Arthur. It was another man. Was it necessary for her to voice it so deliberately? Blatantly and rudely? Then again, the Point was certain she had no knowledge of the effects it had on him. Like the slow slice of a knife from his ear to his knee. It would be worse if he let her go. He would just have to accept her anger with him. Eventually, it would subside. He dropped his careful, guarded eyes to the ground. To their feet. "I apologize if you don't agree with my decision or the reasoning behind it." A quick peek up revealed Ariadne to be scowling, rolling her eyes and muttering 'unbelievable asshole'.

He relented. The feeling of her detestation cut deeper than mere jealousy. Arthur softened and touched her elbow, "Let me make it up to you. Why don't I buy you lunch out? Or dinner?" His tone climbed with hopefulness. Especially when the annoyance gradually faded off her visage and she met his eyes again. "We can go to Ristorante Molino…" offered the man. Thinking of the last time they were there and the magnificence that occurred. Maybe she remembered too? Because she lifted an eyebrow and smirked.

Ariadne stopped herself and thought out loud, "You're not going to waver."

Arthur heaved a sigh. Maybe he could…should…he had the chance to make the Architect happy. He wanted her happy. And above all, happy _with him_. Three days wouldn't hurt. He almost, _ALMOST,_ gave in when the warehouse door opened and Gavin appeared on the steps, checking on them. "No."

With creased eyebrows, Ariadne followed his line of sight behind her and spotted Gavin. Still no trust? The next time she looked him in the eye, she looked unhappy. Full of melancholy and disappointment. "Then no thank you." 

Arthur watched the Architect go until she turned the corner out of sight.  
xxxxxxx

_Oh sad young man I think I need you for reasons I don't know.  
If I could make you stay, convince you you'd be lost if we were torn apart.  
If it remained unclear, between the two of us  
Which one would be the one to break the other's heart…  
Hold on, this will floor me differently than any drug that's washed me into sleep.  
It's true, the only fault I'll take from you is how to run from what you wish to keep.  
_–The Only Fault by Rachael Yamagata_  
_

These two are such a mess! Misinterpretations everywhere! Who thinks Arthur should let her go to Florence and who thinks he should stick to his guns and refuse? Also, Arthur has pretty much accepted his feelings and starting to try and counteract Gavin. I think he should step it up a little, hm ? Obviously Ari has received ALL the WRONG signals. Hahaha.


	13. Wicked Game

Wow the response on last chapter was great! Super fun! I whipped this one up as fast as I could as a result, I swear. So without further ado the thank you pie goes to: _Lauraa-x: _I loooooved your long review. I always enjoy the detail and thought you put into it. Really helps me. And I agree if he wants Ari he needs to work on that controlling aspect. His jealousy makes that even tougher but I have a feeling he'll try. _Sprouty11: _Yayay! I strive to make people love chapters lol. Don't we all want to knock both of them over the head? Hahaha. _Amelia-Rose: _Yeah jealous Arthur is fun to write too. There both just so bad as showing how they feel. Ariadne is stubborn and Arthur just sucks at it. _Eirlys: _Thank you, thank you! I don't lack Gavin either. But I've said before…necessary evil. Haha. _numbah435spiritsong: _they frustrate me too. They're fixing to frustrate you even more. I hope it continues to be good though. Hehe. _Guest: _Yes. Take your dang prescription Artie boy! Thanks for dropping a line. We'll try to get them a little lip action sometime soon. _lilachiccups: _Oh I didn't think you were, just wanted to say hey because I haven't been able to! haha. Ari does need to chill out. Keep in mind though, she knows he cares…she knows he's capable…but no matter how much he cares, she's afraid he'll never let himself care _that way_. So she's doing everything she can to see fault in him and transfer feelings so she wont get hurt. Which happens anyway. Cause she already has those feelings :S

Thank you _Luthien Faye _for following and _snapdrakon17 _for favoriting.

**Chapter 13: Wicked Game**

"You can take her."

Arthur's figure cast an ironic, foreboding shadow over Gavin's desk. The Chemist was bent over a boiling beaker, pouring the contents of one of the test tubes in to make a concentrated sedative. Several bottles were lined against the edge, labeled with the percentages of each chemical, ready for experimentation which he normally did with Eames. Without looking up from his concoctions, the top of his curly head panned, "Oh thank you; I was waiting for your permission."

How did he get any work? Honestly. Gavin showed respect for no one, had no sense of authority, no manners. Not that criminals needed manners but who'd want to work with him? Arthur was already fed up with the idea of letting him whisk Ariadne away to the Tuscan country, Gavin's attitude was not making it any easier. After Ariadne stormed off, Arthur returned inside to do more information gathering on Florence. As minutes ticked by, he started to think he may have been unreasonable in his decision. Started to realize he had made the proposition a personal one instead one of business. He must look silly to everyone. The Point Man decided he wouldn't let the tiny evil green monster rule as a master over him. But it was simpler said than done. "Listen to me. I wan—" The Chemist continued to mix and stir without acknowledging Arthur was speaking to him. So he barked, "Are you listening to me?!"

"Yes," heaved the Italian, meeting his eyes with exasperation, "God…you're so uptight. No wonder she doesn't like you."

The insult was more of a pinch than a punch, so Arthur let it go through one ear and out the other. Then he stated his conditions—oh yes, if he was leaving Ariadne to someone else's care there were going to be strict conditions. "I want the exact address and GPS coordinates of the house, the landline numbers and wifi codes if any and I will handle the flight information." As if the other man would forget, Arthur had typed up a list of the data required to be turned in before their departure. In the form of application, mind you. If an unforeseen occurrence happened and the Architect needed him to swoop in, Arthur wanted to be prepared and have the correct information to come to her aid. He planned for the worst, of course, like her being held hostage in the villa or the like.

Gavin scrutinized the application form with a dumbfounded gaze, "Controlling much?"

There was a litany of rules on the back page of the packet which was for him to keep. Such as: No using real names with locals, pay with cash only, tour discreetly, no discussion of dreaming in public, no deliberate seeking out of the mark or his family, etc. But there was one rule Arthur didn't want on record, should Ariadne see the list. And that was, "Don't touch her, Russo."

"And now we're possessive..." commented Gavin, with widened eyes and mischievous sneer.  
He looked, first, for the location of Eames and Victor. Eames wasn't in sight so he assumed he was using the restroom. Victor was on the phone with either a contact to get Eames an internship in the uncle's office or their client. The Point's voice lowered anyway, just in case. "I swear on my mother's grave, you will not live through this extraction if you pressure her into anything."

"I mean," switching around tubes and putting a new beaker to boil, Gavin sarcastically inquired, "how would you know? Somehow, I don't think she'd be comfortable telling you."

The other man only said things like that to get a rise out of Arthur, he knew. The Chemist was the type of man who thrived on chaos and ruffled feathers. So the Point chose to ignore his question altogether and ask one of his own, "Do I make myself clear?"

"How do you know _she_ won't be the one to pressure _me_?" The Italian seemed to catch on to the pattern: disregarding interrogations and posing ones of his own, as he put one of the completed mixtures into the small fridge.

"Am I clear?!" Demanded Arthur in a loud tone that was anything but nice.

Passing by with swaggering steps, was the Forger, coming back from his trip to the bathroom and singing, "Somebody's in trouble…" His wit was not appreciated by Arthur's glare so he scuttled off. (Not without giving Gavin a comical grimace behind Arthur's back.)

"I tell you what," Gavin sighed, actually pausing his work for once, "I give you my word, I will only do what Ariadne wants me to do."

While the wording was not the best, it was accepted, "Thank you. That's all I ask."

Gavin always waited until Arthur settled back down and turned to leave before he threw in his most aggravating comments, "Besides it's no fun unless she's begging for it, right?"

xxxxxxx

Ariadne enjoyed a nice meal by herself two blocks down and strolled through the residential part of Rome to get some peace of mind. Sometimes the Architect needed time away from the warehouse and all the men. Victor was boring, Eames and Gavin were loud and Arthur was frustrating. So good old quality time with no one but her shadow felt good. She was gone an hour, maybe an hour and a half tops and had resigned to the fact that she'd be sketching from Google map images (which she had done before. It really wasn't a big deal. Just typical.) Humming, she traipsed into the building and towards her desk. Her leftover diet coke still fizzling in the can in her hand.

As she passed, her Chemist buddy called her over. "Hey Princess! You hear the news?" Oh great. The Architect detoured and ended up leaning against his desk while he made notes about the ingredients in his current mixture. Her arms crossed with coke still upright, "What news?"

The man's head tilted in the direction of the Point's desk, "Hitler's letting us go."

"By ourselves?" For some reason, Ariadne didn't believe it. And her eyebrows showed it.

"Yeah, we're big kids now!" He mocked. And plopped a packet on the cleared off part of his table, "We just have to fill out this paperwork first."  
xxxxxxx

Arthur hated clutter and extra things in his area that weren't necessary. He could sense it from miles away. So when Ariadne's diet coke can plunked down on the wood (without a coaster) of course his attention was grabbed. If by nothing than the trash. "Hi." She offered. When the Point continued to stare at the can, she picked it up and put a napkin under it to appease him.

That was better. Arthur's eyes slid up, "You're speaking to me." His throat cleared and his hand lowered the computer screen a hair. That way his work wasn't lost but it showed he was taking his mind of off his task for whatever she was there to discuss. "I take it you found out your tantrum worked?"

"Yeah," Ariadne gave him a smug smile but a genuine, "Thank you."

"You're a grown woman who's capable of making her own choices." It was truth but it was also exactly what she wanted to hear so it was a win-win. And unfortunately, that grin she was giving him was worth anything. "I need only be concerned about you getting the job done. As long as it is, nothing else is my business."

Here, the Architect's face scrunched and a piece of paper surfaced from her cardigan pocket. It was folded in four and a bit wrinkled when it landed on his keyboard. Arthur unfolded it and recognized it to be a schedule he'd typed just before he went paralyzed from her arms on either side of his chair and her mouth by his ear. "Then could we trash the itinerary?"

Maybe it was her exhaled carbon dioxide tickling his earlobe but he didn't remember typing the itinerary up. He was technically looking at the page but he wasn't seeing it. "I suppose," shrugged the Point. He probably would've agreed to free fall from Mount Everest in that moment if she asked for it too. Without having a use for it, he crumpled the page in his hand.

"You're the best," exclaimed the Architect. What happened next was the greatest, most extravagant thing to happen to him since he arrived in Rome. Arthur felt two soft lips quickly peck his cheek. The smack of them against his skin caused him to suck in so much air it all went to his head and he started to float. Or it felt like it. Like he was literally lifting off the floor. By the time he'd blinked, however, she'd picked up her soda and pivoted to leave him.

Not before he grasped her wrist. Ariadne turned back surprised with virtuous doe-like eyes…as if she didn't comprehend how easily she flipped Arthur's world upside down by the axis. He toyed with her. Using an uncharacteristically roguish guise, "Anything else you want to trash?"

First, Ariadne appeared perplexed but ultimately broke into laughter and set her can back down. "Are the four page questionnaire and waiver/release form _entirely_ necessary?"

"I guess the questionnaire isn't…" Then again that was two hours of Arthur's day spent typing that he couldn't get back but maybe asking for GPS coordinates and an IP address was slightly overboard. "But I want him to sign the waiver."

A compromise she was willing to make. The Architect wasn't making an argument or even questioning Arthur's motive. It just seemed weird. "Why?"

Arthur scratched his jaw and looked away from her, fiddled with the crumpled itinerary sheet. Not to seem as timid as he felt but to seem less invested, "Because you'll be in his care and I want him to take it seriously. Perhaps having someone to answer to and signed proof that he understands the consequences of retaliation should anything happen to you…will make him behave."

Pursing her lips, The Architect rejoined, "I'm going to skip ranting about the fact that I can take care of myself and fast forward through reminding you that I've lived in Paris alone for five years…" Arthur chuckled and glanced back up to see her eyes sparkle, "and just tell you that that's sort of sweet of you."

Acting absurdly offended, Arthur grimaced, "I'm _not _sweet…"

"No, you're really not…" she shook her head at him sadly, "I mean if you want to talk sweet, talk about the person who stood in the middle of a kitchen and let a girl cry on him for fifteen minutes." The expression that feigned disappointment in him turned into a smirk.

"Damn, who was that?" the man pretended to ponder thoughtfully.

Ariadne lifted and dropped one shoulder, "The same man who called her on her brother's birthday to make sure she was ok?" Squinting her eyes she added, "Do you know him?"

It'd been too long since they'd played games like this. Gone tit for tat in a battle of the wits. Arthur leant back in his chair and rubbed his chin, "Doesn't ring a bell…"

Oh, she knew how to best him…The Architect pulled her phone from her pocket grinning like the Cheshire Cat, "Maybe if you see a picture of him in a crown?"

"Don't you dare." Arthur snatched the device. He thought he'd delete it himself but she had a damn password on it and it would take him at least fifteen minutes to figure it out. So The Point resorted to, "I'll break your phone."

"So you admit it was _you_?"

He growled but it lacked luster, "Reluctantly."

What happened next was the _second _greatest, most extravagant thing to happen to him since he arrived in Rome. The day started out horrible but it was certainly shaping up to be bright and wonderful. Ariadne's two short arms wrapped around his neck and gave him a squeeze, "I miss you being funny. Can you keep being funny? Just a little?" He was too overawed with shock from their chests pressing together, wisps of her hair in his face and her mouth talking into the crook of his neck to remember that wrapping his arms around her in return was the usual thing to do when hugging. When she let go and stood back up, Arthur's body was humming from his core to his fingertips. "I'll try." He half laughed. (It was more of camouflaged wheeze but we'll overlook it.)

xxxxxxx

The morning of their departure, the Team was coincidentally leaving the hotel around the same time. The Extractor and Point to ride to the warehouse, the Forger to grab some breakfast and the Architect and Chemist to take a cab to the airport. Arthur and Eames shared the elevator to the lobby and saw Victor chatting with the travelers just outside the front door while they were loading duffels into the car. Gavin was heaving Ariadne's duffel across the backseat and she was checking her boarding pass while the leader joked with one hand in his pocket and the other holding a hot cuppa-Joe from the selection inside, "Alright, we'll try not to get too much done without you two."

"Yeah, please don't progress at all while we're gone," The Chemist kidded back. They shook and he waved to Ariadne, heading down the sidewalk at the exact moment Arthur and Eames stepped out.

The Englishman was the first to address them, "What have we here?" casually slipping the boarding pass out of Ariadne's grasp and holding it over his head when she lunged for it, "Trying to race away before giving me a proper farewell?"

Ariadne hated the mornings. Having to be up, dressed and on her way somewhere at 7:10 am meant that she wasn't the happiest camper. Normally, she would've bantered with the Forger. Hurled a churlish or kittenish response. But it was _7:10 am_ so she stomped on his foot instead. And she may be tiny but she had the strength of twenty men when she was grouchy enough. "Shit, sweetheart!" Eames bellowed, crouching over.

Taking advantage of his lowered position, the Parisian snatched back her ticket and patted his head, "Bye Eames."

"Safe travels, love," grumbled he prior to throwing advice at Gavin, "May want to wear steel toed boots around that one." He told Arthur he'd meet up with him at the warehouse and trotted off to get a cab himself. The Chemist opened the passenger door and disappeared inside, saluting Arthur in the process. That left the Point Man standing on the sidewalk of the carport as Ariadne threw her messenger bag in and sat.

Rubbing her eye (is that what it looked like? He could picture it when they talked on the phone late but it wasn't as likeable as the real thing) Ariadne said, "See you in a couple days."

She could close the door herself but he always did if he was around. Arthur stepped closer to the curb and took hold of the side of the door as her hand grazed the handle. The man blurted, "Will you call me?"

"When we land?" Ariadne was still half asleep, the rasp in her voice lingering. Was it creepy—his desire to scoop the Architect up? To just want to surround them in pillows and warm fuzzy blankets and nuzzle his nose in her neck to make her blush?

"Yes and maybe every afternoon when you get in? If you feel like it?" Arthur wanted to stay on her mind. Even if it was only a sliver of thought about him. Not that he had her in the first place…but he didn't want to lose her to Gavin on this trip. He hoped the Chemist wouldn't sweep her off her feet in the romantic countryside of Italy while he slaved behind a laptop and stacks of documents to be reviewed. "If you meet anyone suspicious, I can check them for tails. I can put the sights you've seen on file for reference. And any pictures you take, if you want to send them to me, I'll print them for you for when you get back. I'll have a Florence binder ready." He didn't want to sound desperate to know what was happening on the trip. He wanted to sound helpful because, really, that was what he was striving to be: of use to the Architect.

"Ok, I will." Ariadne nodded and yawned simultaneously. Satisfied (and microscopically anxious), Arthur swung the door closed and walked to his rental as they drove off.

xxxxxxx

By lunch that same day, Ariadne was much more awake and enthused. That was obvious when Arthur randomly received five texts, one after the other, within a moment's time. He, Eames and Victor were convened by the lawn chairs eating sandwiches and discussing recent occurrences at the office where the Forger observed his subject on the weekends. The Point just took a bite out of his bread and sat the sandwich down on the wrapping when his voice buzzed and moved on the chair by his leg. Then buzzed again. In the process of picking it up, it buzzed again.

**Ariadne Bourgeois (Ari) **

**12:21 pm: Just landed! I would call but reception here sucks. Did this go through?  
12:21 pm: We're grabbing lunch near more civilization, maybe there'll be some there.  
12:22 pm: It's really pretty out here though. That makes up for crappy cell service.  
12:22 pm: I already have a picture I want you to print for me, by the way.  
12:22 pm: *image* **

Arthur skimmed over her choppy thought process and loaded the image. He expected some hills, maybe some warmly colored villas or a quaint town square…Lo and behold, it was a picture of him. The top of his head really. In the photo he was crouched on the ground by some dolls with a big silver crown on his head. In the corner, half of Ariadne's face was smiling and dropping a thumbs up.

**Ariadne Bourgeois (Ari) **

**12:23 pm: We're cute aren't we? Hahahahahah  
12:23 pm: Don't worry I haven't shown it to Gav.**

The picture understandably meant more to him now. It was incredibly candid and endearing. The type of moment he wanted to share with her more often instead of awkwardness and fighting and misunderstandings. He chose to be difficult for comedic purposes.

**Arthur ? **

**12:23 pm: I'm not printing that. I can't have physical evidence.**

**Ariadne Bourgeois (Ari) **

**12:24 pm: Pleeeeeeeaaaase? It's golden. You have to admit it's golden.**

**Arthur ?**

**12:24 pm: I said I would print you pictures from Florence. Key word, FLORENCE.**

**Ariadne Bourgeois (Ari) **

**12:25 pm: You said 'any' picture.  
12:25 pm: Come on... I'll be your best friend forever.**

"Artie dearest, what's got your dimples coming out to play?" Arthur cut his eyes from his phone to the Forger and immediately the smile plastered on his face dropped. Eames was chewing his sandwich dramatically slow and waggling his eyebrows. Slicing through the man with a glare, Arthur turned his back towards them and resumed typing.

**(1) missed call/s from ARIADNE BOURGEOIS (ARI). **

**Arthur ?**

**12:26 pm: Is that a threat?**

**Ariadne Bourgeois (Ari) **

**12:26 pm: I hate you. =P**

**Arthur ?**

**12:26 pm: No you don't. You think I'm sweet, remember?**

**Ariadne Bourgeois (Ari) **

**12:27 pm: Oh yeah…bad judgment on my part. Considering you won't print me one tiny little picture that means sooooo much to me.**

Perhaps it was sarcasm. Knowing Ariadne that was the most likely. But he couldn't help rereading about it meaning something to her. Even as more texts rained in.

**12:27 pm: Also, we're at the restaurant. Actually we've been here a while but you were so busy yacking, I couldn't tell you.  
12:27 pm: I tried calling you but the ringing sounded too static-y. It drove me nuts.  
12:27 pm: ALSO, the pesto here is amazing. Be jealous.**

"Mmm…now I see what's got you so happy." The low and gruff lilt startled Arthur. He hadn't even noticed the Brit had snuck over and peeked over his shoulder. "Sexting the Architect?"

"Go to hell, Mr. Eames." Hastily—before the other man tried anything like snatching the phone to read or replying something embarrassing or vulgar—he locked and pocketed the device. "She promised to check in when they landed."

Eames started poking Arthur's sides teasingly, " 'You think I'm sweet, remember?' " When the Point Man swatted at the Forger, the latter stood and ruffled his hair (which Arthur immediately smoothed back down), "Quite the flirt aren't we? I knew you had it in you." Arthur took the remainder of his lunch and sought out solace at his desk. He made sure no one was in a ten feet radius of him before plugging his phone into the computer. Fifteen minutes later, the Englishman shouted across the building to him, "Aren't you going to reply?" It wasn't professional but Arthur flipped him the bird.

He deserved it.

**Arthur ?**

**12:42 pm: Okay. It is hidden in the bottom of your paper drawer. Should you ever expose it to another living soul, I'll never work with you again.**

**Ariadne Bourgeois (Ari) **

**12:43 pm: =) Is that a promise?**

**Arthur ?**

**12:43 pm: Are you ever going to send me pictures of actual Florence?**

**Ariadne Bourgeois (Ari) **

**12:44 pm: *image***

The picture that popped up on his screen was a plate with a small pile of pesto pasta scattered around and a piece of buttered, garlic bread eaten three fourths of the way.

**Arthur ?**

**12:44 pm: I don't mean your lunch.**

**Ariadne Bourgeois (Ari) **

**12:45 pm: What do you want from me? Leave me alone. Geeze.**

**Arthur ?**

**12:46 pm: You texted me, Architect. I think I'm the one being bothered.**

**Ariadne Bourgeois (Ari) **

**12:46 pm: *image ***

It was an image of her middle finger.

**Arthur ?**

**12:47 pm: Lovely. Shall I print that too?**

**Ariadne Bourgeois (Ari) **

**12:49 pm: =) Just got to Gav's house. I'll try calling you later.**

xxxxxxx

Four days (technically three and a half) went by abnormally faster than he anticipated. Sadly, the rest of their interactions while she was gallivanting about in Florence were not as long or engaging. Here and there, Ariadne sent him photos of actual scenery. Rarely, he'd get a silly comment. And for the most part, she kept her word about texting him when they got in for the night. He didn't take offense by it. He was sure she was simply excited and overcome by interest in the landscape and people. Arthur enjoyed what few tidbits they _did _send back and forth.

He only became suspicious when he picked them up from the airport and she acted strange. Ducking her head when she replied to his inquiries about the flight and overall view of the trip, avoiding eye contact unless it was absolutely called for. On the interstate journey back to the warehouse, Arthur recalled all their conversations and examined for anything that could've been misconstrued…anything Ariadne might've taken offense to. One (after going over it a third time) stood out:

**Arthur ?**

**11:04 pm: Awake?**

Arthur remembered typing it out on the elevator to his floor at the hotel and just walking through the door and placing his briefcase on the desk when he received reply.

**Ariadne Bourgeois (Ari) **

**11:07 pm: Duh. You know I'm basically nocturnal.**

**Arthur ?**

**11:08 pm: No pictures today?**

He had time to take off his shoes, hang up his jacket and loosen his tie between answers.

**Ariadne Bourgeois (Ari) **

**11:09 pm: Actually there were so many, I was just going to email them you.  
11:09 pm: They're uploading on Gav's computer right now.  
11:09 pm: There are some of us being goofy…but I'd kind of like to have those too.  
11:10 pm: If you don't mind.**

The Point Man recalled being irked about that. Not that they were having fun and taking pictures of themselves there, he was sure they were keeping job-oriented enough…just that Ariadne asked _him _to print pictures of her and Gavin. Knowing…(honestly though, probably _not knowing_) how left out it made him feel. He remembered taking his time responding on that one.

**Arthur ?**

**11:12 pm: Eh, why not? Sure.**

**Ariadne Bourgeois (Ari) **

**11:12 pm: Thanks! How are things there? The Englishman behaving?**

**Arthur ?**

**11:12 pm: Does the Englishman ever?  
11:13 pm: Things are well. I finished cross-referencing the Uncle and the Mark's relationship. Vic came up with a great way to put him under again on Level 2. We'll fill you two in when you get back. **

******Ariadne Bourgeois (Ari) **

**11:13 pm: Super. It's going on three days. Do you miss me yet? Lol**

What did lol mean? The Point couldn't find it in Webster's. And he searched for a good five minutes. He told himself he would google and still had yet to by the time they got back.

**Arthur ?**

**11:17 pm: I haven't really noticed actually.**

DING. DING. DING. That was a red light and a stop sign and a shrilling alarm if he'd ever seen and heard one of those. Arthur was a man; he didn't pay attention to the exact things that came out of his mouth and how every tiny one could be interpreted. But looking back, especially at her wording before his…it sounded like he hadn't noticed she'd been gone. And that's not what he meant at all. He just meant that it was interesting that the third day was already upon them. He expected them to go slower. He hadn't really noticed the time stretching out because he'd been in contact with her. The Point Man should've known by the interval of time in between the foot in his mouth (or phone) and her rejoinder.

**Ariadne Bourgeois (Ari) **

**11:53 pm: Hah. Good then.**

xxxxxxx

By the end of the day, Arthur was more than baffled by her behavior. Not only was she tightlipped around him but around _Gavin _as well. They had a team meeting to fill the Architect and Chemist in on the progress and ate a quick manicotti dinner together that Eames had bought from a place downtown. Off and on, he observed the woman sifting through the folder of pictures at her desk, her feet propped up on the able and her chin propped up on her palm. As soon as the clock struck eight and she could claim she'd done three hours of work (the minimum Victor would accept), she sort of bolted out. Arthur was coming back from the supply shelf he set up with toner, ink, staples, etc. and bumped into her. He looked at her messenger back and coat and she looked at an empty cardboard box sitting by one of the lawn chairs. "Heading back already?"

Nodding tightly she mumbled, "Jetlag."

The Point Man adjusted the cartridges of printer ink in his hand and took a gander at the Chemist's work area. Gavin had clipboard and pen in hand, standing over an unconscious Victor and the PASIV. Neither of them were going anywhere. Next, he looked for Eames but he was nowhere to be found. Outside already? "Is Eames driving you back?"

"I think he already went back?" She, too, aimlessly glimpsed at the Chemist's area while speaking. Her tone was reluctant, like she didn't want to reveal that she technically didn't have an escort back. (Or ride. She hated that other word.)

"No problem. Let me set these on my desk and I'll take you." Arthur strode past her, dropped off the ink and put on his jacket as he strode back.

"You're busy," she grimaced, meeting his eyes and then averting hers to the whiteboard to her far right. "I can call a cab."

Pulling his keys from his pocket and twirling them on his finger he persisted, "Nonsense. Come on."

xxxxxxx

The silence and occasional 'yes' or 'no' answer to his endeavors of small talk pushed him to the brink. What was wrong? None of this made sense. "Are you ok?"

"Yeah."

Another simple retort. If he was going to right whatever was wrong he'd need a little more elaboration than that. As good as she'd gotten and calling his bluff about being fine, he'd gotten that good at calling hers. So like she would do, he kept on, "Ari…"

"I'm fine, Arthur." In a rush, The Architect pushed all the air vents away from her and pulled one leg up to her chest. She liked to sit that way a lot.

"You're acting…not upset but…scared of me. Have I said anything?" He switched lanes then chanced a gaze. The woman's poker face (if she was using one) remained intact.

"No."

Arthur sighed, "Are you positive?"

More emphatic, Ariadne huffed, "Yes."

"Yes I've said something or yes, you're positive?"

"Positive." She pulled out her phone to check the time and dropped it back in her bag. She fidgeted in her seat. It was clear the Architect was not comfortable being in the vehicle with him and that worried Arthur.

Scrounging for explanations now, Arthur looked at her again. Tried to will a look back, "Then have I done something?" He didn't even get a yes or no that time, he got her chewing on her lip. Which he only caught from looking in the reflection of the passenger window. "Please, Ari, if I've done something I want to rectify—"

"You didn't do _anything, _Arthur. _Nothing._" Ariadne exploded. They slowed to a stop at a red light. Arthur studied her eyes again. He'd mistaken them before. They weren't hurt…they weren't angry…they weren't afraid…

They were guilt-ridden.

She fluttered them down to the floorboard and hesitantly confessed, "Gavin and I did."

Uh oh. He sounded almost hopeful when he asked, "Did you jeopardize the Team?"

"Maybe through your eyes…"

Ariadne was wincing and picking at her nails and Arthur began to get this sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, crawling up the back of his throat, chest already starting to crack. "What happened?" Did the man truly want to know?

Her eyebrows furrowed at him and it spilled out of her with waves of remorse, "It was only once, I swear." Never a good opening statement… "And we didn't go all the way. It was just heavy kissing and…touching on the sofa. We were fully clothed! Mostly."

Usually people see red when they get so infuriated they can't stand themselves. This time, Arthur saw black and blue. The black and blue that'd be all over the Chemist's body once he got a hold of him. Ariadne jolted back when his palm hit the steering wheel with enough force he could've broken it, "DAMNIT. I talked to Gavin about that! I warned him that if he pressured you into ANYTHING, I would kill him! I'll fix this, Ari. Wait until I get my hands on—"

"He didn't pressure me!" Somehow, Arthur had trouble wrapping his head around that. His face got puzzled and his speech paused. Her next three words were what did the damage: "I initiated it." Thankfully, the light turned green and he didn't have to look at her anymore. Or maybe not so thankfully. Because at that point, it hurt to look at her and it hurt not to. The car filled up with silence as tiny shards of the corner of heart he carved out for Ariadne, broke off and pierced through him.

He waited until he was sure his voice would sound unchanged, he couldn't wait for his body to unstiffen because until she was gone, he feared it wouldn't, "What does that have to with avoiding me?" Had Ariadne miraculously picked up on his budding feelings for her and didn't know how to break it to him? If the woman was going for gentle, this wasn't it.

"I promised you I was going for the architecture. That I could keep it professional. And I didn't. I let you down. I hate letting you down." Yet, she didn't know just how far down she'd let him, did she? The image of them—her and Gavin—as she described was near devastating for Arthur. It smashed his chances.

What had been in Ariadne's head when she'd done it? The inherent, pulsating need to get rid of her feelings for Arthur. Sure, it'd only been a few days…asking if he missed her sounded ridiculous. She didn't mean it literally, she was joking. And he coolly admitted he hadn't even noticed. Sure, after the fact—_after_ she pushed Gavin onto the sofa, pulled his shirt off and made out with him—she realized how petty it was. She knew Arthur cared a good deal. He openly called her one of his best friends. But she couldn't help wanting more, to mean more, to be more. And Ariadne knew that no matter how much he grew to care for her, he'd never let it come between him and his career. He'd never reciprocate the biting, burning, beautiful feelings she had for him. And it would be so easy, the rejection would hurt so much less if she could just like someone else that much. If Ariadne could just force herself to develop those sentiments for someone who boldly returned them without resistance. So far, Gavin was anything but hesitant in accepting the attentions she gave him and he showered her with more than she could really take in return. It was pleasant. Enjoyable. Why couldn't she yearn for _him_? Why couldn't she gravitate towards _him_?

That's what she was struggling to do that night.

Arthur shook his head. He couldn't let her know she'd got the best of him. Couldn't show weakness or dejection. It'd be less humiliating if she never found out how he felt. So she wouldn't pity him. He was above that. "Like you said last week, I don't have the authority to dictate what you do off the clock. As long as you don't screw over the job, I'm not concerned with whether you screw the Chemist."

Ariadne knew the set in his jaw all too well. Saw the white knuckle grip he had on the steering wheel. The hard lines of his eyes as he watched the road, turning the corner. The woman stared at him, angry at herself. She'd never have him as a lover and now her stupidness was going to cost her his friendship. "You're mad at me."

"You flatter yourself," he chuckled, "we don't have any type of relationship in which your relations with other men would affect me. Negatively or positively."

There went that switch that made Ariadne mad. She got loud and cut him down, "Did I _say_ we did?! No, I _know_ we don't. We're barely friends." It'd always been in Ariadne's brain that if you sounded furious you automatically couldn't sound wounded.

Arthur chided, "You're lucky we're _that_ close." This is why he didn't let people in. This is why he didn't get to know people as individuals. This is why he did everything in his power to avoid getting attached. Because the results were never anything but excruciating pain.

Her voice broke and that's when Arthur knew he'd gone too far. She may have hurt him but it was unintentional. And he never wanted to intentionally do the same to her, he couldn't. He wanted to pummel himself when she commented, "Yeah. I'm _real _lucky you make me feel so horrible all the time." What could say, what could he possibly say? Ariadne came up with something faster, "Stop the car."

"What?"

"Pull. Over. Arthur." Louder with each word, she went. After he obliged, she unbuckled, put her messenger over her head, "I can walk the rest of the way," pushed open her car door and she was out on the side of the road. Worried out of his mind, upset about her and Gavin, pissed off by how he handled it, he followed her slowly in the car. Finally she stopped and glared through his darkly tinted windows as they rolled down, "Leave me alone."

"It's past midnight; it dark out, this isn't a trustworthy city. I don't want you walking out here alone," he explained.

"There's a bus station around the corner. I'll take that," she pivoted and power walked. But she wasn't fast enough.

"Ari, I'm sorry we fought." His concern for her safety overpowered everything he recently felt. He was motioning and entreating, "_Please _just get back in the car. Let me drive you back."

The Architect came to the window. He unlocked the doors believing she would get in but she merely leaned into the opening. Closer, he could tell her eyes were shining. And not the glorious starry way he was used to but a dulled, injured way. Almost like his. Whispering, she inquired, "Why would I share a ride with you when I could be run over by a bus or stabbed by a stranger and feel the exact same way?"

Arthur closed his eyes and sighed. By the time he opened them again, Ariadne was two blocks down, disappearing around a corner.

xxxxxxx

_I never dreamed I'd need somebody like you.  
What a wicked game you play, make me feel this way.  
What a wicked thing to do, make me dream of you.  
And I wanna fall in love, And I wanna fall in love  
With you. –_Wicked Game by James Vincent McMorrow(Live at Killkenny Arts Festival)

These two. I swear. So unnecessarily conflicted. There's your action with Gavin we've been waiting to "see." Do we want them to make up next chapter? But how shall Arthur do that? Or how shall Ariadne? Suggestions? Comments? Concrit? The chapter song by the way is a really, really beautiful song. Find that version and listen if you can.

They're in a paradox of feelings ya'll help em break free.


	14. If It Kills Me

THANKYOU: _lilachiccups: _hahaha I'm sorry. Don't get a concussion please. _Lauraa-x: _Gavin's a stinking womanizing jerk. And yeah, I think Arthur's so consumed with his feelings for her (by the end of this chapter) that he has no choice but to accept it. Bad argument :/ but luckily you'll see Arthur won't let the tussle last long. He's learning. Good boy. _Guest: _Mmm…maybe a little. I think she won't feel guilty about doing stuff with Gavin because of this. But her feelings are still in the middle of the fence at this point. _Eirlys: _Sorry, I can't get rid of Gavin =( the team needs him for the job. And no worries! I understand what you're saying. I think it's incredible you can read and write in a second language. Your English is good to me. =) Thank you so much for reviewing and sharing your thoughts anyway. _numbah435spiritsong: _BECAUSE THEY LIKE EACH OTHER SO MUCH. Haha. He does but he's learning, he'll get better this chapter. Promise.

Cupcakes for _dessie.28. _Thank you for following and favoriting.

**Chapter 14: If It Kills Me**

Ariadne had a dandy morning the next day.

Housekeeping knocked on her door at 9:11, alerting her she was late. Since, she wasn't in the mood for anything but getting comfortable, plopping into her bed and screaming into her pillow when she got in the night before…she forgot to set the alarm clock or set up a wake-up call from the front desk. So she dove out of bed and asked the maids to come back later before hopping into the shower. Halfway through, Ariadne realized there was no soap left so she had to use the rest of her shampoo to suffice. She hopped out: one towel left. And no clothes to change into. As a result, her soaking wet hair pummeled the carpet with drops of water while she tore through her drawers for something to throw on. She settled for her dark jeans and a dark orange and green striped quarter length Henley since they were on top. The Architect literally smeared on some foundation and blinked on mascara just so she wouldn't look dead, stuffed her feet in her shoes and ran out and into the elevator.

She was power-walking through the library when she noticed A) there was a towel on her head. B) Her messenger bag was in the room. Along with C) her missing room key. It was a five minute wait and ten minute long process to prove she was herself (or her alias) and get another key card. Eventually she was on her way to the warehouse. (After grabbing her bag, ditching the towel and grabbing a pastry from the continental breakfast for her ride. Taxis were turning out to be a one in a million that morning and she couldn't pace in the carport any longer without having a panic attack so she strode down the streets. Waiting for her turn at a crosswalk, her cell started to buzz uncontrollably. The Architect put her untouched croissant in her mouth to have free hands to pull out her phone and check the caller id in perfect synchronization with the 'Walk' sign lighting up. The horde of people stampeded, one knocking into her and making her breakfast fly out of her mouth and into the gutter. "Shit!"

"Excuse me?" Her caller inquired. It was the Extractor. Ready for their 9:30 production meeting to start. Even though it was twelve minutes to ten.

"Sorry, someone just—" Following a longing look at her ruined breakfast she got back on track, "I'm having a horrific morning. I'm walking as fast as I can I promise."

They were used to it, in all honesty, and she'd been better about it lately so he could let it slide. "Ariadne, Ariadne…" he panned, humor hidden in the crevices of his intonation. "We've gone ahead and started the meeting. You can have someone fill you in when you arrive. We're just having a disagreement about what you'd be comfortable doing so I thought I'd call and ask you."

What wouldn't she be comfortable with? "Ok?"

"We really need another gunman on Eames' level and since Arthur is dreaming the third and I'm extracting, we'd need it to be Gavin." Ariadne was half listening—half jogging across the street before a tour bus crushed her. "Would you be up for dreaming and holding down the first level? You think you can handle it?"

That made her day sunnier. She'd get to under again _and _be an integral member? Hold down an entire level and time a kick? The Architect loved nothing more than challenge, "Yes! Yes, yes, yes. I'll do it."

The Parisian heard him speak away from the receiver, "She says yes." And in the background there was a sarcastic British accent, "Big surprise. I told you she would." And then there was a gruff voice that made her want to break something or kick the stop sign in front of her, "Of course she'd agree. That's why we shouldn't have left it up to her. We should've evaluated th—" The Extractor clearly wasn't listening to Arthur because in the middle of the Point's rant, Victor came back to the phone, "Excellent, we'll talk details at our evening meeting. See you soon."

Beaming with pride over her new task, Ariadne was knocked to the ground by a man on a bike. What a morning…he picked up his bicycle with a 'scuse' but without helping her up and peddled on his way. Glad he was ok. The Architect got a nasty, dirty, scrape on her left elbow and chaffed skin on her right palm. Nothing horrible but it didn't feel great. Upon her entering their workplace, with a semi-damp, wavy mess of hair and battle scars from the journey, the Team dispersed from their gathering by the lawn chairs. She marched straight to Eames and pointed at her elbow, "I need first aid pronto, Tonto."

The Brit grimaced, "Nasty. What makes you think I'm the one to come to for that?"

Ariadne ignored the pins and needles on her back from the stares of the Point Man and crossed her arms, "Because you're a Band-Aid whore?" Gavin greeted her by stating 'good morning' and patting her hip on his way past. Eames simultaneously took hold of her arm to assess it as she continued, "You horde the kit at your desk because of all the bar fights you get into."

"Out of the mouth of babes…" he quoted and winked before leading her to his desk and supplying her with what she needed.

xxxxxxx

Ariadne hadn't pulled her hair up into a messy bun, uncovered the model she was working on and been measuring sides for ten minutes when a coffee cup appeared on top of the foam board. She cut her eyes up and met the stare of someone she hoped she wouldn't have to acknowledge for at least a week. "It's a peace offering." No movement came from the girl. The ruler stayed turned on its side, the pencil stayed mid-line at the seven inch mark and her form stayed hunched over. All that moved were her brown orbs back to the coffee cup. Scrutinizing. Arthur adjusted his stance in the midst of her muteness. Cleared his throat. Which resulted in her eyes cutting back up to him. "It's your usual: Vanilla latte, soy milk and cinnamon." The Point Man started and went into his inside jacket pocket, "Oh and your chocolate croissant." He placed it on the desk in its papering. Then plucked a short stemmed, lavender tulip from among his pocket squares and laid it by her hand. Again, her gaze jumped to the table. The ruler was forgotten, the pencil laid down and her posture straightened when she reached out and tore off a piece of the croissant and popped it into her mouth. Her eyebrows rose as she regarded him with words instead of empty looks, "It's good."

Arthur visibly relaxed and leapt into contrite admissions, "Our fight—" he huffed, "it could've been avoided. You did nothing wrong. Some of the things I said and the way I said them were uncalled for."

The Parisian blew on her beverage and sipped from it before shaking her head, "I was overtired from the flight and stressed and on edge, I overreacted. I mean, nothing you said was wrong. Or untrue."

"Yes it was," argued the man. His hands supported his body weight against her desk, "You're not lucky I let you get this close." One of his hands bladed and gestured to himself, "_I'm _lucky you let _me_. That you continue to put up with me and forgive me when I make mountains out of molehills. I don't deserve your friendship."

The anger was doing wonders in pulverizing her feelings for him and now he had to be sweet again. And bring her breakfast. And a flower. And soften his dark, alluring eyes at her. Ariadne rolled her eyes at him, "Oh, shut up. I'm just as dramatic. We deserve each other."

The Point swallowed hard. Yeah, they did deserve each other, didn't they? They deserved to be together. How perfect would they be? And anyone acquainted with Arthur knew he thrived on perfection. The Point Man decided that morning that he had to exert himself and show her a special amount of attention to fix all the problems surrounding them. Like Gavin. Better than Gavin. Give her signs that he cared more than he used to. So, determined to be the first to cave and apologize (instead of being stubborn and prolonging their interval of distance like his instincts told him to), he left the hotel early and stopped at the place they had breakfast their first day of work. "I'm sorry for making you feel like you don't matter much." Her shrug wasn't the reaction he was going for. It didn't look like that sunk in like it should've. So he elaborated, "You matter a great deal to me."

Smiling in a tight-lipped fashion, she dropped her eye line to the desk again, "You do too." He was killing her. The night before she wanted to bury herself alive to stop the stinging, that morning she wanted to wring his neck and now she wanted to grab his tie, pull him closer and kiss him senseless. It was becoming an endless paradox of emotions. Wholly exhausting. It didn't help matters when he rounded the corner of her worktable and picked up her elbow to examine the large square Band-Aid. "What happened?"

She chuckled to herself because she thought her sense of humor was priceless, "The sidewalk." His eyes continued to question. "I got run over by a bicyclist."

"Last night?" The worry slipped out.

"No, this morning." Arthur didn't _have_ to drop her arm…He could've held it forever if he wanted. The warm fuzzies pooling in her stomach were remarkable.

The Point Man ran his fingers along the edge of her desk to the side opposite of her, "Well, I heard someone turns twenty four on Tuesday."

Returning to busily measuring with the yardstick, Ariadne picked up her pencil and started marking lines where she left off, "You heard right."

When she seemed to search for something, he held out a highlighter, "Vic giving you the afternoon off?"

The woman took it from him and popped the cap off with her teeth. So that's why half of the caps on the markers at his desk had chew marks…she'd been borrowing them and using them as chew toys apparently. "All day," shrugged the girl. "He said I deserve it."

Arthur agreed wholeheartedly, "You do. You work tirelessly," watching her take a drag from her cup, he kidded, "I suppose I've rubbed off on you." That was another thing. Beginning that morning, Arthur would endeavor to have playful banter more often. To have the kind of discussions they had on the phone in real life.

Ariadne finally finished the task she was trying to complete and rewarded herself with a bite of croissant. She may have also defensively, she shot back with, "Hey, I had good work ethic years before I met you."

"Yeah. I just meant—" Geeze. He didn't know what to say around her these days. Everything was wrong or sounded too pathetic or didn't sound friendly enough or wasn't enough to pique her interest to continue a chat. "You weren't a job-driven workaholic like me."

With her Styrofoam cup up to her mouth, she pointed at him to concede, "Touche. Let's hope I never am." Now, he had a rough sketch of what she had in store for her birthday. He was heading to the restroom earlier as Gavin presented her with concert tickets and wanted to puke all over himself in disgust at the man's desperate attempt. The reason Arthur wanted a more detailed schedule was because he'd been fretting over it and decided he wanted to ask her to lunch or dinner together. What would be a more seamless excuse to treat her to a meal alone than her birthday? Hiding his real motive behind the celebration made him feel better about yearning for a closer relationship with the Architect. He fished around, "Any big plans?"

Ariadne swallowed her mouthful fast, "Yes! Gavin scored two tickets to the Lana Del Rey concert over at the Colleseum! Can you believe that?" She was one level away from jumping up and down in excitement over it. With disdain, the man noticed her glance over at Gavin's area with a smile.

"Actually I can." He wasn't impressed. Far from it. And he doubted Gavin shared her musical interests—the Chemist just wanted to suck her into his world of leather jackets, overuse of alcohol and singers. "When is it?"

"It starts at seven, I think," here, she opened a drawer and unsheathed her box cutter, "but we want to be in the city by five so we can eat dinner first."

Dinner _and_ a concert. The screeching sound of the metal sliding through the foam was akin to the way Arthur felt. It sounded like a date, however much Arthur didn't want to believe it was. Didn't want to accept that her and Gavin's weekend away put them on dating terms, on exclusive terms. Arthur joked again to relieve his tension, "Surprised Eames didn't insist on treating you to a bank heist instead."

"He tried." Ariadne laughed, tracing more pencil lines with the knife, "No. Actually, he wanted to have breakfast before your 9:30 production meeting but my friends are taking a train in to spend all Tuesday morning with me, so…"

Morning was booked. Night was booked. Arthur had a small window of opportunity (and we mean like a doggy door) to carry out his idea. Even if he vied for half an hour at a bakery between her plans or had to wake up extremely early for coffee in the lobby or take her for gelato at midnight after the concert, it was dire he try. It was urgent he made her feel that her birthday was important to him as well. Coolly on the outside, he adjusted his tie and gestured to the forger's table with his index, "We have a lunch break…why don't Eames and I take you for lunch? Or do you already have plans?"

"Lunch was plan-free actually." Ariadne put her cutter down and leant her hip against the drawing table, "That would be fine."

Yes! The Point Man went ahead and took care of all the details so their dat—luncheon would be set in stone. "I'd want to give you ample time with your friends. How about around one? Is that an agreeable time?"

"It's perfect." Grinned the girl, "Where do you want to go?" picking off more flaky pastry and popping it into her mouth.

"_You're _the birthday girl, you pick." The boyish side of Arthur—that hid from everyone—was giddy she agreed. It added, "And don't worry about expense. Wherever you want. Your wish is my command."

The Architect did that thing where her eyes narrowed, her head tilted and she bit her lip…she was in deep thought but it made Arthur's hands clam up to the point where he had to wipe them on his pants inconspicuously. Like lightning striking the earth: sudden, bright, brilliant, scary, Ariadne's gaze met his. "Have you been to Ditirambo? I know Eames hasn't."

Eames? That was out of the blue. After backtracking to the beginning of the conversation, the poor man mentally kicked himself in the butt for inviting Eames. The reluctant, serious, stand-offish side Arthur had snuck in and done that. It was aware of his desire to be alone with her and the chaos that would ensue if he were. "No, I don't believe I have either."

She picked up a previously shaped piece of foam and shaved off the corners, "It's this amazing hole-in-the-wall two blocks from the Campo dei Fiori. I found it on a dinner break when we first got here, I've been dying to go again."

"Ditirambo it is. I'm looking forward to it."  
xxxxxx

The Architect and her group of old school mates (Clarisse, Edith, Madeline) met at nine for antique shopping and stopped around eleven for scones and early morning Madras. The outside café was similar to the ones they were accustomed to from home, so the girls were comfortable kicking back and catching up. Ariadne had just recently opened the presents they'd brought her (despite her adamant demand they not give her anything but their company). Collectively they put together a smoking outfit for a night on the Italian town and purchased all the pieces. Pumps, dress, jewelry, clutch. (It was an excuse to help her dress up for things without being there. Because normally they had to come over and wrestle her into a tight skirt or something.) Well, and they threw in some new colored ink pens because that was more her style. Her phone vibrated on the table, "Oh, I need to take this."

Edith leaned over the table to look at the caller id, "Ariadne…No work today, you promised. Let it go to voicemail," complained her girlfriend as she snatched the phone from the Architect and held it to her chest for safekeeping.

"It's not business related. It's a friend from work I'm meeting later," Ariadne explained, shaking her hand at her.

Madeline grabbed it from Edith to see the handsome friend in the contact photo, "Oooooh, who's this gorgeous thing? Ari, sweetie, are you keeping dirty little secrets from us?"

The Architect stood up and over the table, seized the device, swiped it and blurted, "Hey," before her 'handsome friend' could hang up. "Happy Birthday, Architect." Arthur's smooth voice washed over her and forced her to bite her lip to keep from smiling while on display."Thanks." Sensing, the prying eyes of her friends, she rolled her eyes at them and turned her body on the chair to face outwards.

"Are you still up for lunch at one?"

"Yes, absolutely." She really shouldn't have been that thrilled about it. Sure the whole reason they were getting together was because he wanted to treat her for her birthday…but any nice person you've known for a while would do that. They were best friends. She would want to do something special for _his _birthday if she knew when it was. Plus, Eames was coming too. It wasn't as if it was a date. Though the butterflies in her stomach and the two hours getting ready that morning felt like it.

The woman could see the grin on the other side of the phone, "Good. You'll never guess what I'm doing right now."

"What?"

"Eh," he made the sound flippantly, "putting your present together."

One knee began to bounce excitedly, both lips rubbed together, both eyes creased from the huge smile on her face, "Oh, you didn't have to get me anything."

"Too late. Do you—would you want me to pick you up or—would you rather meet there?"

There were two more hours until their meeting time and she didn't know what else the girls wanted to do. That and she really didn't want them to see him drive up and collect her because they would tease her about him enough as it was. They were like her mother. Ariadne could look at a man once and have them planning their bridesmaids' duties. "I don't know where I'll end up and I don't want you to have to drive around God's creation to find me. We can meet there."

"Alright." Was it her imagination or did he sound (even the tiniest bit) disappointed? Get a grip and shake it off, Ari. "I'll let you go, now. Sorry if I bothered you while you're with your friends."

Ariadne giggled (_giggled? _Really Bourgeois? Contain yourself), "No, bother me any time. Bye." After she hung up, she turned back to her table and took a swig of her drink as if each woman in her party weren't all ogling her with faces like hyenas. The Architect prayed they would drop it if she ignored them long enough…if she twiddled her thumbs and stared at the red umbrella above them.

Nope.

Clarisse (who was most in the know about Ariadne's current romantic behavior) poked her shoulder playfully, "Who was _that?_ Motorcycle Man?"

"_Motorcycle _man?" Edith's eyebrows rose and gave Ariadne an approving look, "Vroom vroom."

Ariadne blushed first than shook her head and corrected, "No, it was Robot Man."

"Arthur?" Clarisse wanted to confirm and Ariadne wanted stab herself with her straw because now they _all _knew his name.

"Wait, there's _two _men?" Madeline slapped her hands on the table and leant across to look Ariadne dead in the eyes, "You have two men fighting over you?" If she squealed or started clapping like she always did, Ariadne would slap her. She actually would this time.

"They're not fighting over me," scowled the Birthday Girl, "Arthur and I have a healthy work-friendship. He doesn't care what I do with Gavin." The Point had said so himself. Those were pretty much his exact words.

Edith didn't seem to register it. The leggy blonde wiggled her eyebrows and talked over Ariadne to Clarisse because obviously Ariadne wasn't going to share, "Is Gavin the Motorcycle man?"

"Oui. He's taking her to dinner and a concert tonight!" They whispered and giggled like it was something straight out of a romantic comedy…the Architect had to pinch the bridge of her nose, "_And_ _Robot man_ is taking her to lunch!"

Ariadne separated the two girls conversing across her with her arms and sounded more let down when she heard herself than she wanted to, "Not just the two of us. Eames is coming too." Don't get her wrong…she adored the Forger. But being alone with Arthur was something she relished in and (guiltily) fantasized about since that day some wonderfully rude Italian family forced him to press against her.

Madeline gasped, "_Three _men? Sacre bleu, Ariadne, n'aves-vous pas vivre la vie rose?" *1

By now the tiniest Parisian had had enough, "Guys, seriously, stop. Eames is like my brother, Arthur and I don't see each other like that—"

Edith hummed, "So your eyes just twinkle when you're on the phone with him for nothing?" Madeline joined in, "Sure does look like you see him that way…" Ariadne glared daggers at them. Daggers that sharpened with Edith's mocking, "Ohhhh bother me _any_time, Arrrrthur." Edith gasped when the Architect's straw flicked some of her drink on her.

"How do you see _Gavin_?" Clarisse prompted.

"Gavin…" Ariadne trailed off…It was easy with Gavin. She didn't have to skirt around him, he made it plain he was interested. She didn't have to worry about unrequited feelings. The Architect could toy around with him and they both knew where they stood. Gavin was good for the ego. "He's another story…"

Madeline fanned herself with her hand and sipped at her Madras, "Mon Dieu, remember when we couldn't get her to talk to _one_ guy at the bar and now she has trois fawning all over her?"

"You better wear that sexy outfit we bought you…you're bound to snag one of them," Edith instructed.

Clarisse pretended to dab tears from her eyes with her napkin, "Je suis fier tellement." *2

Ariadne clipped, "Tais-toi et manges votre croissant." *3

Xxxxxx

Arthur was early. Arthur is always early. He didn't know if the small restaurant was a favorite of the locals or not and since it wasn't the type where he could make reservations, he wanted to secure a table. From his seat he could watch across the small space through the window outside. Ten minutes to one (she was early too? Ariadne is never early), he spotted her getting out of a cab with bags in tow. She looked girlier than usual: An open collared, short sleeve white blouse, tucked into a floral skirt that billowed in the wind. Modest wedges. The hair that normally hung in front of her eyes was twisted and bobby-pinned back. It was the sweet side of her, reminiscent of the night they went to the show. The first time he recalled not being able to keep his eyes off of her. The Point Man stood when she came through the door and waved her over, "Buon pomeriggio."

"Ciao," She waved back with the hand looped through a paper bag's handles, "Wait. Is that 'bye'?"

"Either or. Looks like you've been gifted generously today," he alluded to the two bags she sheepishly sat in the chair next to her. "Nah, we went to some of the farmer's markets and I picked up some stuff for my flat. And some antique for mom. She loves to put those kinds of things on the fireplace."

He made to pull out her chair for her but she'd already done so, so he sat down opposite of her, "Eames is on his way; he was right behind me." This may have been the one time Arthur prayed someone was drastically late.

"Did you find the place alright?" Ariadne scooted herself closer, a strand of hair tucked behind her ear in the process.

"Yes. Oh—" Arthur reached under the table and pulled a large gift bag out and set it on the expanse of the table between them. "Happy Birthday, again."

The small woman could scarcely see over it to him, "Holy crap. What do you get me, a microwave?" Since she couldn't see him, she heard his amused snort and got on to him, "Arthur…"

He stretched and found a way to look at her over it, "I know, I know. You hate it when I buy you things but there's a good excuse this time."

The appreciation was genuine when she murmured, "Thank you." Then the bag was heaved up and sat it in the chair next to her with the other bags, "I'll open it later—"

"No, I want to see your face."

Arthur wasn't the type to pull pranks but the sly look he graced her with was unnerving. The Architect made sure to squint her eyes and rotate her head to make it obvious she was on to whatever he was doing. "Ok…" With a deep breath (like an alligator would bite her hand and pull her in) Ariadne dove her hand into the tissue paper and pulled out the first thing she touched. It was a cardboard package like the ones that come in the mail. From reading the label that said it was shipped to their hotel from 'The Sharper Image', Ariadne got an idea of what it could be and grinned, "Oh my God, you didn't…" Arthur handed her his keys so she could cut through the tape and open the box, "You did _not." _There was a small and long case that twisted open at the top. The woman opened it and—"Yes…Yes! This is the _best_ present ever." Out came a shiny, spanking new, laser pointer pen. She twirled it over her fingers and flashed the dot of light over the table and Arthur, "Oh, that is awesome."

"Now you can stop leaving your greasy paw prints on mine."

"You love my greasy paw prints."

He interrupted the Architect's intense laser show by informing, "There's more. There's a lot more, actually. Just dig around."

"But what could be better than a laser pen?" The next thing she touched was a round cylinder. After the tissue was ripped off it was revealed to be a giant shaker of garlic powder. "Really…?" She held it up to him and he proudly nodded. Ariadne set it at the edge of the table, "Ok, I'm using that for lunch."

"Not the whole thing, please," Arthur lightheartedly slid it away from her then encouraged, "Keep going."

The next was a combination of two things wrapped in tissue paper together: The original Broadway soundtrack of Beauty and the Beast and a doll like the one he'd bought Philippa at the show. The singing Beast action figure. The woman may have shrieked like a little kid, "Amazing…He looks just like him…"

"Press the button on his back." Arthur took it out of the box quickly and adeptly, turned the toy around, placed it in her hands for her and pressed it. There were an assortment of the main characters and each featured a different song when you pressed their button. Since it was her favorite, he got her the one that sang 'If I Can't Love Her.' Ariadne gasped. Adorably, he might add.

Lying on what felt like the bottom was a gift card to the convenience store next door to their hotel. On it, was a post it that read (in his careful script), 'For Chapstick. Since you always lose yours.' "What?" She breathed incredulously at him.

He shrugged, "It should last you a month; Keep going…"

"There's _more_?" Two big rectangular cubes turned out to be the entire series (thus far) box sets of Bates' Motel and Cupcake Wars. The two shows she watched the most. Scanning the boxes and reading the special features with wide eyes, she exclaimed, "This is freakin awesome, Arthur."

She made sure there was no more and pulled out a maroon, satin scarf with white geo print that resembled a maze. Arthur winced, "Cliché, I know. You have a million."

"Yeah, but none that look like a maze. That's so rad…" Ariadne folded it back gently, "And you know, only one from you."

"Two now." He pointed out.

Once everything was neatly back in the bag and the bag underneath the table she stood to hug him, "You, sir, know me freakishly well. Thank you." Arthur felt his toes catch fire. "It's literally everything I could've wanted." The woman would never know how happy he was to hear that. For the past two days, he'd wracked his brain, scoured the internet and overnighted packages to have the perfect melting pot of gifts. When he heard Gavin's present were tickets to one of her favorite artist's concert, he was afraid mementos like garlic powder and a Disney doll would pale in comparison. But she reacted how he hoped she would. Better than he hoped.

While thrilled with the objects he accumulated for her, they weren't what Ariadne was referring to when she said they were everything she could've wanted. All of it was awesome to receive and own…not all of it she would've put on a wish list if asked to write one up. Everything she wanted was in his detailed thought of each present. Like each was a reminder of a memory they shared. It showed how much he remembered about their friendship, about her. The present/s were _so _exceedingly personal, Ariadne couldn't have gotten anything better.

"Uh oh, hope I'm not interrupting any friskiness." Eames popped in and scooted past Arthur to sit. The Point flashed a frown, "Took you long enough."

The Englishman ignored him per usual and kissed Ariadne on both cheeks over the table, "Happy Birthday, Darling. I ordered your present. It will be delivered to your hotel room sometime tonight." His eyebrows waggled suggestively, making Ariadne's face heat up, "Eames, you were kidding about the Strip-o-Gram, right?"

He feigned astonishment, "You said you wanted one."

"I was _joking!_" She hid her face in her hands, "Please say it's an edible arrangement or something."

"By _edible_ do you mean—"

"William."

Eames' words ran dry. He simpered at the Point Man, "Oooh…first name."

"Do not finish that thought." Arthur warned the Forger to quit having fun at her expense. Eames sighed and complied. It was her birthday after all, "It's not a stripper, I promise."

The three settled back into their chairs and perused the menu.

xxxxxxx

Eames opened the door of his cab and quickly gave Ariadne a farewell kiss on each cheek, "Have a rocking," here the Englishman gifted her with an exaggerated wink, "time tonight, Tiny."

Arthur glowered. Ariadne just closed her eyes, shook her head and tried to wave it off before she started turning pink, "Thanks Eames."

The aforementioned froze with one foot in and one big shit-eating grin out, "I mean it Birthday Girl. Have a real _grind _of a time—A banging time."

"I'll try," joked the girl in reply though her face was on fire (and it showed). He finally sat in the cab but once his face turned as if he was going to say something else, she slammed his door.

The window rolled down, "A lovely little romp, if you w—"

"Thank you Eames." She yelled over him just before his ride pulled away. Again, her head shook and she turned around to Arthur. Arthur hoped she didn't have to meet Gavin until late; he had planned on taking her for a walk by the ruins and getting them some gelato if she had time. He wouldn't mind carrying her bags for her so she could stroll comfortably. "When do you have to meet Gavin?"

"Four thirty I think." It was almost three. Perhaps she could spare him another hour? "But I have to head back to my room and get pretty first," she shrugged, looking down at her phone. Presumably checking the time. Maybe voicemails.

Where had it come from? Well most of what Arthur said or did for the Architect these days was shocking compared to his natural responses. He hadn't sensed it coming. It was like vomit—if vomit came out in the form of a velvety compliment, "I think you look pr—pretty nice as you are." On second thought, he commended himself. It was one step closer to really showcasing his feelings. On third thought, he scolded himself for sounding as if he was trying too hard. Or like he was complimenting her out of politeness. On fourth thought, Arthur should've stopped after pretty. Pretty-nice didn't sound flattering.

"Thanks. I'd kind of like to look better than nice though. So." Her head ducked away timidly and it became one of those moments where Arthur's mind was spotless besides the one truth that Ariadne was the most stunning and fascinating creature he'd ever behold in his lifetime. Those moments were so frequent, now. Why on earth couldn't he express it? Every cell knew it, admitted it, responded to it. Yet when he made an attempt to confess how magnificently he viewed her, he said idiotic things. Like 'pretty nice'. His caged admiration intensified when the beautiful woman looked up again, "If only you liked hipster-y stuff. I think it would've been fun to go with you. Expose you to the natural habitat of us humans." The Point Man was absolutely incapable of un-dimpling his dimples. It was involuntary, the joy it brought him to think that his smile was infectious and Ariadne was affected by it since she imitated his expression. Ariadne also kittenishly added, "I would pay millions of dollars to see you dance like a dork."

"Who said I danced like a dork?" chided the Point. "And Eames is not good authority."

"My imagination's a pretty good one," challengingly, Ariadne tilted her head.

Arthur's brow raised, "I'll have you know that Mal and Cobb forced me to take ballroom lessons for their wedding reception…" he trailed off and looked around them. There weren't too many people strolling around. His mind drifted back to that day they picked up takeout together. The feeling of her delicate curves against his lines and edges. Her voice barely carried through the haze, "That doesn't make you good at it."

The Architect's smirk is what made him decide to go for it. In the blink of an eye, his hand was on her waist and the other holding one of hers out. Ariadne's pleasant surprise further egged him on and with one upturn of his lips plus a gentle tug, their stomachs brushed up against each other and touched through the clothing. Her free hand instinctively held onto the back of shoulder, hanging from it. Her body warmth burned through his jacket, through his vest, through his shirt, underneath his skin and scorched his bones. There was no way he imagined the hitch of her breath (which she tried to cover over with a cough). Swaying side to side, he (_actually_ and cheekily) flirted, "Next time you imagine my dancing, you can think of us like this." Arthur dropped his forehead about an inch from hers and whispered, "Or you can imagine us closer if you want."

Ariadne tried her best to scowl. A car horn caught her attention and caused her head to turn away from him. The loss of being the sole focus of her attention was a loss he had not been expecting to affect him so radically. Arthur had so many desires bubble up while he stared at her profile (keeping the subtle back and forth movement of their bodies). He wanted to tuck that stray wispy behind her ear, he craved whispering things tenderly into it (his lips on her lobe, his cheek against hers) and he covetously desired leaving a trail of wet kisses from her collar bone to her lips. He needed to leave her breathless. He needed her to suffer the same gorgeous torture she'd unknowingly punished him with since they reunited. He needed her to be just as desperate and frantic for his name, his eyes, his words and touch as he was for hers. "Quick," he murmured soft enough for effect yet loud enough to hear over the light traffic and city sounds, "give me a kiss."

"But there aren't any projections staring at us," she turned her head back and laughed her head off at him until she saw his dark sparkling orbs. He didn't seem to be joking, "I'm serious, Ari. Kiss me." Then it was like the moon and the tides. The Point Man didn't have to request it twice…(well he did but you understand the saying). The Architect's lips parted slightly, made his heartbeat quicken. Slowly and nervously, Ariadne leaned in, tilted her chin up…come on, come on, come on…the suspense drove him wild. If he didn't want to look too eager—and give away that it wasn't a play on their inside joke from Inception—he would've impatiently crashed his mouth onto hers and kissed her into oblivion. Until both their lips were swollen and he was numb to the surreal sensation that tasting her caused. Until everything faded and disappeared and the only thing grounding him to reality was her and her hands and her lips and her eyelashes on his cheeks. Ariadne's bottom lip barely skimmed the tip of his when her damn phone went off and she jumped away from him to reach in her bag and check it.

It wasn't fair.

As she talked to whatever bastard interrupted them, Arthur fought to compose himself. To restrain the emotions and adrenaline. There had never been a craving to compete with the one for Ariadne. The Point was _so_ frustrated; he didn't know what to do with himself. He wanted to break her phone in half, toss it into the street and literally kiss her everywhere he could reach. Everywhere visible, everywhere not visible. Good God, she'd driven him insane. Every time Arthur believed he was as far in over his head as he could be, he sunk further and harder. Once she pocketed her cell and pivoted to him again, he was paralyzed in thought: He should tell her. He should tell her he had uncontrollable, adoring feelings for her. He should tell her she's the most exquisite thing on earth. He should beg her to please, please, please, kiss him. Put him out of his misery. Apparently she decided to torture him more and remain three feet away. "That was Gav. The only reservation time was for four-thirty so we have to leave at four so…"the Architect's eyes flitted to his lips. Do it. Please. Kiss him. "I should go."

"Let me drive you," offered Arthur zealously. His eyes were picking up every minute movement she made. Every bend of a joint, every blink. He battled the urge to make a fool of himself for one more touch. He burned, burned, burned. Only she could put it out.

"You need to get back to the warehouse; a taxi's fine." She picked up her big bag of goodies he'd gotten her (her other bags were stuffed inside) and stepped to the curb with her arm up. To Arthur's credit, he didn't snake his arms around that petite waist and nip at the creamy smooth skin of her neck like he envisioned. A car pulled up and—no, no, no…he couldn't be without her right now. He didn't want to be separated. He felt like one of those Love bugs or March Flies from Florida. The ones that die if you separate them? "Thank you again for everything," she smiled. It helped quell his feening skin (only momentarily) when he was able to open the door and help her in by holding a hand. "Have fun tonight," he smiled back.

He didn't mean it.

xxxxxxx

_All I really wanna do is love you.  
A kind much closer than friends use.  
But I still can't say it after all we've been through.  
And all I really want from you is to feel me  
As this feeling inside keeps building  
And I will find a way to you if it kills me, if it kills me  
It might kill me. –_If It Kills Me by Jason Mraz (Casanova Sessions)

Eeeeeeep! How did you guys like that little interaction? What do you think of the concert and dinner with Gavin? Think it's a date? And do you think anything will happen between them…? So far what I have planned for **next chapter** is pretty intense. SO…please, please review and inspire me to get it out fast like you always do.

Also thank you to the silent loyal readers too. Maybe you don't have time or an account or whatever but you still read and follow it and stuff too and that makes me incredibly happy.

Translation footnotes:  
*1- Holy blue ( French equivalent of good heavens), Ariadne, don't you live the rosy life?"  
*2- I'm so proud.  
*3- Shut up and eat your croissant.


	15. Bad Romance

So sorry I haven't gotten this out sooner. I really really tried but we had a death in the family plus I've been swamped with work plus I had to keep my 3 year old niece all weekend so you can imagine how much I did _not _get written with her around. Hahaha. I will try to do better this week, I promise!

Anyways, my **thank you's**: _ Sprouty11: _No, you're completely right. They've got huge blinders on. It was initially an intense chapter but I had to cut the actual intense part into the next chapter because of lengthy reasons. It made more sense to stop before. _Lilachiccups: _lol. You and your tantrums. Hahaha. That day will come eventually…you have my word. _Lauraa-x: _We'll find out Eames' present a little later on. Haha. I know Gavin needs to GTFO. _Amelia-Rose: _So cloooose, I know! Ugh. And thank you! That's sweet. =) You didn't have to, I didn't thank the quiet people to make them feel bad just wanted to genuinely thank the people out there that like it. I do it to sometimes =/ But I wouldn't be opposed to hearing from you more often lol. _Eirlys: _I know, I'm an evil writer. Hehe. Nope, Ariadne is oblivious. Well…she might get a little idea in the this chapter but— _Guest: _Obvious to everyone BUT THEM! Thank you! _Numbah435spiritsong: _they can be soo sweet right? Thank you! _Grace-xox: _They'll realize eventually…probably. Hahahah.

Thank you _Sprouty11 _for favoriting me! And _AYF16 _for following the story!

Also! Why does everyone want me to kill off Gavin…? Lol.

**Chapter 15: Bad Romance**

"Eames." Arthur called sternly, storming up to the Forger's work area (while he was trying to figure out the six digit phone number he received at the bar last night, no less) holding his phone and some earphones in his hand.

Eames let the slip of paper drift down and droned, "Yes, oh boring one?"

The Point leaned over to see what he was interrupting and rolled his eyes. He could scold Eames for not doing any work or he could get answers, "Have you heard any of Lana Del Rey's stuff?"

"Yes, actually," he squinted, not entirely sure where this was going. The stick in the mud wanted to exchange music recommendations? That was new. Eames was positive Arthur didn't like music. After all, he wasn't human or anything. "One of my exes made me a cd."

"Are all her songs as sensual as this—" Arthur lit up his screen again to read the name, "Million Dollar Man?" They talked briefly about the artist at lunch because of Ariadne's excitement to see her that night. The Point Man took note of the titles of her favorite songs: Million Dollar Man, Young and Beautiful, National Anthem. Naturally, he was curious about the nature of the concert she'd be attending with Gavin so he may have downloaded her recommendations to his smart phone. The woman's voice was beautiful and the lyrics clever if not slightly suggestive in some instances.

It was humorous only to Eames, when his eyebrows waggled, "Some of them more."

Arthur tried to act too sophisticated for his own good as he wound the ear buds around the device and pocketed it, "That doesn't seem like an appropriate artist to see for someone's birthday." In truth, it actually was. But he'd already been beside himself with mixed emotions on the way back from lunch because Gavin had claimed her entire night. And he discovered he was irreversibly enamored by her at this point. What would she wear to a concert like this? With this music…would she dance with Gavin? There were only so many ways you could dance to a song like the ones he'd listened to and all of the ways were pretty sensual.

Oh-ho, ho, merry ho. That's what it was about. Ariadne's outing with their resident Chemist. Eames propped his legs up on his desk and grabbed a pencil to twirl between his fingers; this was going to be fantastic, "Are you worried about her?" He peeked over at the extractor before he had too much fun but the bloke was on the phone again. He was a chatty-Kathy that one.

"Aren't you?" Defensively, the Point crossed the arms over his chest…outstanding. Eames grinned to himself while Arthur listed off the cons, "Gavin is your a-typical bad boy. Motorcycle, tattoos, cigarettes. He's an immoral influence on her."

Eames guffawed, "In woman's terms, Arthur, Gavin is a hunk." The next string of jibes he added for personal humor. "It's cliché if you ask me: Good girl, bad boy, opposites attract. I saw it coming."

"He clearly only has one thing on his mind…taking her to a concert like that." The Point Man wanted Eames to get suspicious and protective with him (mainly so he would suggest they go keep a watch on the Chemist and Arthur wouldn't have to). Eames merely leered, knowing it would drive his friend insane, "Happy Birthday to Ariadne then."  
xxxxxx

Arthur didn't procure the tickets he could've and go spying (PROTECTING). He didn't call her around eleven when the concert was slated to be over to see if she was alone in the cab or if he could hear a male voice. He didn't call her this morning to see if another person answered her phone (TO MAKE SURE SHE GOT UP ON TIME). No, the Point Man gracefully waited until she traipsed in, happy as a lark (unusually happy, why?), and set out her things on her desk. Picking up the coffee he got for her, he waited until she got started on her model to stride over. Casually. If it was any consolation, the closer he got, he noticed she was donning the scarf he gifted her the day previous (that made him smile satisfactorily). Then he looked down at the signed concert t-shirt (that made him sneer.) Arthur stood at her side and dangled the hot cup in front of her face. Humming, the woman put it to her lips straight away. Those pink lips that almost graced across his…"How was your night?"

Ariadne licked the foam off her lips and impishly grinned, "Great."

xxxxxxx

"They slept together." Arthur's full body weight pressed through his hands onto Eames' desk. They were hot and roughed up from the wringing. The Point Man felt like he was going to be sick…there was a headache waiting to burst his head open. And to top it off, he kind of wanted to take a sledgehammer to the warehouse and tear the thing down.

Without looking up from his newspaper (does the man ever work?), "Good morning to you too, Artie," The Englishman flipped the thin box next to him open and offered, "scone?"

"Do you understand the gravity of this?" Arthur gritted and snatched the paper from Eames' grip, "The effect it will have on the mechanics of the team? You don't sleep with co-workers, it messes up the dynamics."

The Forger made obvious studying glares towards Ariadne and Gavin but came up with nothing. Gavin had a bagel hanging half out of his mouth, pouring something into one of those plastic tube thingies and Ariadne was bent over, measuring something. Neither of them looked post-coital. Trust Eames, he would be able to discern. "How do you even know?"

"I asked her how her night went and she said," He held his finger up, "and I quote, 'great.'" The Point punctuated with a shake of the head that said the two parties should be ashamed of themselves.

Eames chortled, "That explains nothing."

"It's in the details, Mr. Eames, she did that—" Arthur's hands made circle motions at his forehead area, "thing with her eyebrow when she said it."

The Forger deadpanned, "She always does 'that thing' with her eyebrow. And she would call finding a penny on the side of the road a 'great night.'" Eames stood up, snatched his reading material back and made himself comfortable again, "Un-bunch your panties and go back to work."

xxxxxxx

Since Ariadne would be taking on one full level by herself for the first time, Victor decided she needed to be well versed in hand to hand and gun use. That's why directly after their morning meeting, Gavin and Eames took her under to work on self-defense (Arthur and Vic had to run an errand). Now, the Point, Forger and Chemist were working on her aim. And since the mystery of her night previous, tensions were running high. Arthur stood next to Ariadne in an empty dream-city. A scarce population of projections milled around amongst stationary cutouts dreamt up for Ariadne's practice. The entire lesson was rough. Her common sense told her how to hold the gun one way but Arthur's specifics told her another. Hands on his hips, his stance changed, "No…Ariadne, you're gripping it wrong."

Since this had been going for well past an hour in dream time, Ariadne's eyes widened. Not in surprise but frustration, "This is how you told me to hold it." Her voice may have held a slight bite as well.

"That's how I told you to hold the Beretta92; this is a Glock23," deadpanned the man with bored eyes. "The Glock is more lightweight, you'll have a sharper recoil on this one."

"Well excuse me," not knowing what else to do, she gripped it tighter, moved one of her thumbs from the handle to the butt and awaited the inevitable correction.

As expected, Arthur adjusted her grip, "Here." Then stood to the side and eyed her target as if he was the one shooting, "Now aim…And whenever you're ready…"

The Chemist piped up while she was aligning her barrel, "How about actually teaching her how to aim instead of just telling her to do it?" He'd had enough of the exercise not going anywhere and started to show it by form of facetious remarks aimed at the Point Man as deadly as the bullets (that weren't being shot). "You think by saying 'aim' she'll magically hit the bulls-eye?"

Without turning his head the Point, stated, "I explained how to calculate the aerodynamics." Before he could point back to the cutout and instruct Ariadne to take a shot, Gavin chided again. "In English? You suck at teaching. Let me try."

"Victor put me in charge of this," Arthur insisted as the new bane of his existence (Eames had been dethroned) waltzed forward to push him out of his place. No way in hell Arthur was fixing to give up their teacher/student companionship to him too. That trust was still his. "I'll handle it."

"It?" questioned the Italian. "You call Ariadne an '_It_' now?"

Arthur only had time to whip his head towards Gavin before Ariadne intervened. She hated when the team talked about her like she wasn't there. "Hello!" She shook the firearm, "Trying to shoot a fake person here."

In response, Arthur shoved the multiplying animosity for the Italian down and made a point to use a tone of educating and not one of irritation, "Put your right foot a bit in front of the other to hold your balance, remember?" Once she did so, he also made a comment about where she pointed her gun, "Head's too small of a target right now. Aim for his chest."

The Architect obliged. It was difficult having Arthur breathe down her neck like that. She got too tense worrying about getting something wrong that she didn't actually concentrate on what she should. Example: her target. Seconds felt like minutes and not because of the syncopated dream-time; because she felt like each second she hesitated was making her appear stupider. So she rushed. And missed. Again."Damnit," she sighed, rearing back her head. The Point didn't scold or groan but he did take a deep breath and palm his face. "Ok, again. It's simple, just—"

"If she gave you a pencil and told you to sketch a blueprint for a cathedral and said nothing else but it's simple, how well do you think you'd do?" Gavin crossed his arms. It was all too easy for him to ignore Ariadne shaking her head at him and Eames' eye roll. (It was humorous at first but even he was getting sick of it.)

"You're not helping," claimed Arthur.

The Chemist threw his hand in the direction of the cutout (with holes everywhere but the desired spots) and argued, "Neither are you." Both Eames and Arthur opened their mouths to say something, one of them something sarcastic and the other something logical and quelling. Opposite of who you'd expect to say what though. Instead of hearing a man's voice, a woman's called, "Gav. Could I talk to you for a second?" as the gun was slapped into Arthur's hand.

The Chemist was pulled off the street over by the 'walk/do not walk' sign and out of hearing distance. Immediately, Ariadne rasped, upset, "Would you stop?"

"What?"

"Nagging on Arthur," her eyebrows furrowed, "What has he ever done to you?"

Gavin scoffed, "What he does to everyone? Condescend. Patronize. Control…" He chanced a glance at the Point Man who stood arms crossed, the gun hanging below one of his elbows. Arthur tried to look around like he was patiently viewing Ari's work. Gav wasn't blind, however, he could see him peek out the corner of his eye every now and then. He sneered just thinking of how Arthur treated Ariadne and made a case for himself, "He doesn't know how to explain things then gets frustrated when you don't miraculously understand, he stresses you out—I mean, you're so terrified you're going to mess up in front of him that you overthink and choke every time you go for a shot."

She didn't know how it worked but defending Arthur felt like she was defending herself too in the moment, "He's fine. He teaches different. I mean he's the one who taught me how to use the PASIV, how to transfer models from thoughts to dreamscapes—basically how to dream. According to everyone else in the business, the way he teaches works just fine."

"Of course you would stick up for him," moaned the man.

"What is that supposed to mean?" The Architect challenged.

"Don't get me wrong. It's one of the million things I adore about you, Princess…" Gavin rested his hands lightly on her shoulders, "You see the absolute best in people even when it's not there. But you put Arthur on some kind of pedestal and he doesn't deserve it—"

"—I do _not_—"

Gavin ran his hand through his curls, "You do. And it bugs me because you two are constantly fighting, he's always treating you like crap and talking down to you and hurting your feelings and you just take it. You just turn around and forgive him!"

"That's what friends do, Gavin!" Ariadne's hands planted on her hips, "He's one of my friends. If not my _best._ And you know what? He's says the same thing about you. About you being bad for me and how I overlook everything about _you_ and put _you _on a pedestal. I'm tired of both of you in my ear about the other! And at each other's throats! I don't need either of you to be protective and frankly I'm sick of hearing the back and forth." Here, her thumb and index pinched the bridge of her nose, "If we're going to keep doing whatever this is we're doing…you have to accept he's important to me. If don't think you can—"

"No, no, no." The Chemist grabbed her hands, "it's not that big of a deal to me. I'm sorry, Princess, you won't hear another jibe out of me." For extra effect, he kissed both of them.

The actions plus the reflexive apology softened Ariadne a little, "You promise?"

"I'll try very hard. I promise." That earned a smile. He pushed it for a bigger reward, pointing to his cheek. "Can my reward be a kiss?"

Ariadne's eyes narrowed but her index finger called him closer to peck the side of his face.  
xxxxxxx

A kiss on the cheek…Arthur gritted. It wasn't anything special, however, right? After all she kissed Arthur on the cheek before. She frequently kissed Eames and James and even Professor Miles on the cheek. It wasn't a dead giveaway that she was involved in an exclusive romantic relationship…yet. Smitten Arthur took over Teacher Arthur and decided he needed to step up his game. So as the Chemist and Architect walked over, he turned to examine the cutout until she tapped him on the shoulder and asked for the firearm back. "Gavin's right. This isn't working, I'm going to switch up my method."

"Ok?" Oh wow. They both were going to cool down and back off? Perfect. Her best friend and sort of boyfriend were driving her crazy with the bickering. When her only two options left were to completely and silently cut off both of them or raise cane, it was nice they stepped in and did what she wanted anyw-The Point Man's arms were abruptly and suddenly (softly…) around her, gripping the gun over her hands (with rough, calloused ones that made her stomach scream). His chest pressed into her back so close that the bones of her shoulder blades could trace the outline of his pectorals. The last straw keeping her body from feeling noodly broke when his hot, humid breath blew across her neck and into her ear, "Lean into me, Ari."

Fighting hard not to sound like he rendered her breathless, she joked with him, "Why, you're not always going to be right there when I have to shoot someone, are you?"

"If we're lucky, I will be." He received a squinty eyes but a sly grin in return, then moved around her gun. Arthur was enjoying the position too much. "We have to aim the barrel slightly lower than the target because when you pull the trigger…"

"The recoil forces it up a bit?"

"Exactly. Whenever you're ready…" Relaxed now, feeling warm and buzzed yet like she could fall asleep, Ariadne took a deep breath and fired. The bullet went straight through the cutout's chest just a fraction below the bulls-eye marking the middle. Eames and Gavin applauded while Arthur praised, "That's the genius I've been waiting for."

Ariadne grinned, "Maybe you should've put your arms around me sooner."

"I definitely should have."

The Parisian adjusted her aim and shot the cutout perfectly between the eyes.  
xxxxxxx

2 years ago, if you would've told the Point Man that his breathing pattern could be controlled by a tiny twenty-four year old hipster, he would've laughed in your face. Well…it was Arthur. He would've actually completely ignored you. It baffled him to look back on Inception—to the day Cobb traipsed off to meet Miles. Arthur had expected him to come back with a name, number and address to contact. Not a girl, barely past five foot two, in the middle of her junior year at school. It was literally difficult to put himself back in that mind frame. _"Arthur, this is going to be our new Architect, Ariadne." "Ariadne. That sounds Greek." "It is." "Very unique. Nice to meet you." _How had he ever stood under her gaze and not felt belly flops? How had he ever not felt like he was going a million miles an hour and everything else was going two when she spoke?

Truth is, he'd liked her in his own way from the beginning. To work with a woman who was less concerned about her makeup and more about how the PASIV functioned was a breath of fresh air. Ariadne was talented, impressive, strong-willed and intelligent. She made training her in the field seem like a break. Arthur never had to repeat himself unless he felt like it for emphatic reasons. She asked a lot of questions—which Arthur appreciated because it meant she was invested—but they were never dumb ones that wasted their time. They ploughed through the material and the scape fast because she picked up everything so easy, sometimes finishing Arthur's sentence. Ariadne thought for herself. She didn't wait for anyone to baby her and lay it out step by step, if she could use her brain and get a step further without needing someone to explain it, she got there. Too, he thought on first glance (seeing as how he could snap her in half with so much as a pinch), that she might be a push over. But Ariadne took no bullshit. Especially from Dom and since Arthur had gotten to the point where he accepted it from the Extractor out of patient friendship, he enjoyed watching someone call him out. The Parisian was a genius, that much he garnered from a glance at one of her sketches much less standing in the dream in the middle of the real thing. He thought Cobb was awe-inspiring but Miles was certainly right. Dom couldn't hold a candle to her. So in his eyes she went from cocky student with nothing to back it up to dreamshare protégé. Arthur truly respected and admired her and justified a peck on the lips because he would probably never see her again.

But the peck made it impossible to forget her. Usually, Arthur had no trouble moving to the next job and the next without second thoughts about the team he'd just worked with. On one hand…he could say that Inception was a once in a lifetime success, of course he would remember and look back fondly on that team. She was ingrained because that entire four months of his life and every detail affiliated was. He still wondered about Cobb and the kids. But in time, the Point Man forgot about Yusuf in his daily thoughts. Forgot about Eames and Saito. He didn't imagine hotels and busy cities with trains or how he'd transformed a man with a simple idea. Yet, he still thought about that Architect. In curiosity only but still. He looked her up one day a year later and noticed she was graduating. Arthur had recon in Paris in the Spring, why not extend his trip and catch a glimpse at how she was faring? If she was an infamous designer of structures yet. He ran into Cobb and the kids who informed him that everyone from Inception had been invited. Except for Arthur. Why wasn't Arthur invited? They parted on nice enough terms. If he had been exclusively invited himself in which she would display a special attachment to him, he would've been uncomfortable and not shown up. But since he was exclusively NOT invited…He was one of her mentors, did she not think he would appreciate her progress? So he showed up to dinner and the interest in her went downhill from there. It was the tiny jolt he needed to forever be curious about her without satiation. He wanted to know what everyone else (who apparently stayed in touch) did. They went on the job in LA and then to her hometown and the more he discovered about her the more the admiration turned into genuine like of her company. Ariadne went from tolerable co-worker to good friend after they'd come back from her parents' house and during all those months calling each other over the phone. He let her in on one or two secrets he hadn't expected himself to. Arthur was excited (as much as a Point Man could be) to see her in person again. To work together again. As he used to be in the early stages of he and Cobb's friendship. Perhaps they could be the new formidable force in dreamshare. Have an equally successful and loyal partnership as his with Dom.

However, on day one, she expressed attraction towards their Chemist and the Chemist towards her. And it wasn't protectiveness Arthur felt. He wanted Ariadne as far away from Gavin as possible and not because he was worried for her life or anything but because Ariadne gave Gavin coy little smirks and single eyebrows…looks the Point Man had always attributed to belong to _him_. Inside jokes between them, if you will. And then came the flirty comments and the kissing of her hand and the excuses for touching and all the things Arthur would never allow himself to have and something Ariadne hadn't pushed. He foresaw their newfound, comfortable friendship going down the drain in favor of her pursuit of the Italian. Or the Italian's pursuit of her. It was soon after; when Ariadne started wrapping her arms around Gavin's waist and riding on the back of his motorcycle, when they started grabbing drinks together and going to dinner and concerts that Arthur's vision started to cave in. It wasn't very long before they would be secretly kissing in the alley behind the warehouse, holding hands and having whole conversations with their eyes. It wasn't long before Ariadne would be pulling Gavin into her room and having him stay over, before Gavin was privy to sharing things with Ariadne he didn't deserve. It was when the thought of all those things pained Arthur. When imagining her with another man hurt… that he had his epiphany: he was infatuated with the Architect. He wanted all of that for himself. And at this point, he was so full of panic that the opportunity was slowly but surely slipping away… Arthur was so smitten by everything she did…that he didn't care if it was wrong. If he shouldn't. He just wanted her to feel the same. Please, please feel the same. It was a drastic change he felt gave him whiplash. Really it'd been slowly sinking into him since their lesson on paradoxical architecture, he was just oblivious to himself. And you know…Arthur had never desired or required another person. A woman companion especially. He had no want for a girlfriend or even a one night stand with women at the bar. He liked being by himself. He preferred it. The Point Man was alone but never in his life felt lonely. Until that night at the Trevi fountain with Ariadne. Until he itched to weave their hands together. Until then, he'd never felt such tragically beautiful lonesomeness.

Things for this team were going exceptionally well. Everything was ahead of schedule. The levels looked great, the compound was tested true, Eames was making leaps and bounds studying his mark and they still had three weeks left. Anything could happen and they could be called in early but at this stage they were confident that if that happened they were well equipped and ready to rumble. For that reason, at the end of the next week, Victor decided they could use Fourth of July back home as an excuse to get out of work that Saturday and celebrate their successes. They found a bar just outside of the hub of Rome that tripled as a dance club and karaoke place. It was large. Complete with flashing lights, an easy crowd to blend with where no one would take notice if they showed up together or not and drinks (and snack items) that were fair priced. As if that was a problem. They all took the day off and decided to meet around eight (whoever wanted). The rest of the team went in to get a table but Arthur offered to wait for the Architect if she arrived so she wouldn't have to walk in alone.

Once he laid eyes on her…Arthur knew that for better or for worse his world was going to turn upside down that night. He wanted to say it, he tripped over himself struggling to express how utterly breathtaking she looked. All he could manage was a strangled, "You look very…different."

Her hopeful smile from the 'you look very' faltered when he settled on 'different'. He scowled at himself over his mistake the entire time he led her inside, all of the adjectives he could have used hitting him like tons of bricks.  
xxxxxxx

"I'm gonna head to the restroom for a second." The Extractor announced after they'd had a round of drinks, chatting at their round booth in the back by the glass cubed wall.

Ariadne stood and motioned for Gavin to scoot out and let her pass, "Yeah, me too," after leaning across and placed her wristlet on the table for them to watch, she added, "I'll be back."

Arthur had seen her look artsy, tomboyish and sweet…never sultry. Never in a strapless dress, pumps and a layered necklace where a scarf should be. It was always layer upon layer or flowy things with her. This was form fitting and…Arthur had to take a sip of scotch to calm his nerves. And other things. Watching her walk off in the direction of the restroom, their Chemist exclaimed, "Damn, look at that ass."

Immediately, Arthur put down his drink and reprimanded, "Don't talk about her like that."

"Come on. You know every man here is thinking it." Arthur glowered while Gavin leant back into the booth and slyly nodded, "We haven't gotten that far yet but…if I get her drunk enough, tonight could be my lucky night—"

The only good thing from that sentence was the confirmation that he and Ariadne had not gotten physical on her birthday. But talking about getting her drunk and loose so he could take advantage of her like Arthur had already warned him against? That wasn't smart. That would happen over Arthur's cold, dead, body, "Excuse me?"

Gavin winked at him. Like they were the kind of friends that talked dirty about women and proudly relayed how many one night stands they had to each other. He talked about her like she was fixing to be another notch in his belt, "I said: tonight I'm going to have Ar—"

"Shut the hell up." Arthur barked, exchanging incredulous looks at the Forger. "I know what you said. She's our _coworker_, she deserves our respect. I _demand_ you give it to her."

Gavin only chuckled at it and made word-play, "She'll be getting _it, _don't worry."

Even Eames was disgusted with this talk. Leggy redheads who came to the bar specifically to pick up a man were one thing, his little pixie friend with a bright mind was another. The Forger warned, "Gavin—"

The Chemist put his drink down and inclined his head towards Arthur, clapping a condescending hand on his back as he did so, "Listen here Artie. I'm young, new and exciting. Ariadne likes that; she likes _me_." If it wasn't clear that Gavin knew about Arthur's thing for Ariadne before, it was clear now. He was throwing it in Arthur's face that Ariadne enjoyed his company. "The fact that I'm unbridled and open with what I feel. That I can show her how to be wild and have fun…Ariadne appreciates the change. She acts like a good girl but we both know what she wants…"

Insinuating that all Ariadne thought about was sex…that that's all she was good for, that her depth of mind, imagination and personality ended there…it made Arthur livid. Ariadne was much more sophisticated and intellectual than the girl who fawns over the first rebel she sees and uncontrollably gives herself to him. That wasn't her. "If you don't shut your damn—"

"You're just a boss to her Mr. Murdoch or Beck or Nolan or whoever you really are. You're too square for her taste." Sure, he'd promised the Architect that she wouldn't hear him give Arthur any more trouble but the Architect couldn't hear him, could she?

"And _you're _trying my patience—"

"You can threaten me however you want," The Chemist challenged, "If Ariadne wants to screw me, she will. No matter what," And the final dig was emphasized by him brushing dust off Arthur's shoulder, "big brother says."

If he hated anything, he hated being thought of as her brother, "You are crossing a line."

The Chemist righted himself when the Architect emerged from the ladies room and started coming back, "The only line I'm crossing tonight is her panty line."

It's always been said that the quiet ones are the ones you don't want to see angry. The ones that bottle up emotions and appear to have none. Arthur could take a lot. Usually when he got upset or angry he got especially quiet and curt and that was the extent of it. Until you pushed him over the edge that is—then the monster came out. Once he let his temper go, there was no reigning back in. It was like a hurricane meets earthquake type of reaction and the attempt to erode Ariadne's honor was enough to make the collision uncontrollable. Arthur slammed his hand on the table, stood up and reared his fist back to punch Gavin's lights out when Ariadne appeared at the table. (Gavin evilly timed it perfect. It made Arthur look like the instigator, the one not trying to get along for her sake.) "Whoa! What's going on?"

"Eh, we're just joking around" The young man stood and guided her in between him and the Point Man with his hand low on her back and traveling lower, "Being boys." She ignored him and looked at Arthur curiously. He shook his head at her to forget it and sat down.  
xxxxxxx

"No, I'm serious!" Ariadne bubbled forth in laughter. Both Gavin and Arthur's arms we were rested behind Ariadne's back on either side. It was the Point, though, that she was presently engaged in conversation with. "Wear khakis tomorrow. Watch how everyone dies of shock."

He leaned forward, "But then we wouldn't have a Team and the extraction would go downhill."

"Um excuse you," her arms folded under her chest mock-offended, "You and I would be left." She lowered to a whisper and conceitedly joked, "We're all the Team we really need, I think."

Arthur smirked. His fingers flinched to move and twirl some of her curls, to make her heart beat as fast as his but he held them back. "I concur."

Ariadne's gaze flitted to a point behind his shoulder before batting her eyelashes (purposely this time) at him, "You have a secret admirer…"

Something started in him. Some big explosion from the pit of his stomach to the tips of everything. Fingers, toes, hair. Following a smoldering gaze of his, the Point grinned, "Do I?"

"That woman behind you." Her head tilted forward to gesture. "She's been staring for the past hour and a half." Yeah. Why would anything go Arthur's way? It would've been too simple, too coincidental and wonderful if Ariadne had confessed feelings so he wouldn't have to. "She's gorgeous. You should buy her a drink." He had no interest in looking. The only gorgeous woman present was right in front of him. She was all that mattered. He merely grimaced and shook his head emphatically, "I don't want to buy her a drink." Fingers itched to tuck hair behind her ear, "I want to buy you one. What do you want?"

Startled, she just said the first thing to come to mind, "Appletini?"

"On me," Arthur told some wait staff then directed his attention back to her. He'd been steeling himself, emboldening himself their whole conversation to do this. To admit his feelings. "You know, you have a secret admirer yourself."

Ariadne laughed, "Gavin's not so secret."

"I'm not talking about Gavin," blinked the Point.

It couldn't mean what Ariadne thought it meant. Not possible. He was joking; he was playing a trick on her or something. Arthur couldn't be talking about himself…except she hoped he was. Biting her lip, she looked to the dance floor and leant a hair more into his arm, "Dance with me?" Maybe Arthur would be more inclined to elaborate if they were away from the eyes and ears of the team.

"Oh—I—I don't. I don't really—"

"Think it's a good idea?" That hope was dashed before it ever took off the ground…what was she thinking? Ariadne shook her head and brushed it off. Rambled off what she believed the robot would want to hear. "Yeah, it'd probably seem inappropriate. I don't know why I asked you, I'm sorry."

"No Ari—" no no no no no, she took it wrong. He was losing the sweet sparkle in her eyes; the million watt smile had faded, she moved up and off of his arm making his skin feen for her again. How was it that he always screwed up his opportunities?

The moment was over too soon for his liking. She addressed the whole table, "Do any of you dance?" The Point had been thinking of asking her, he should've bitten the bullet and done it anyway. No matter uncomfortable it might've made him. After all he'd been watching her bob her head and tap her fingers to the beat since they got there. Club dancing wasn't his 'scene', if you will. Bumping and grinding, doing the robot or the disco, he pictured himself lobbing around like an idiot. If they put on some Frank Sinatra and let him sway around with her or twirl her around his finger he'd be all for it. He just couldn't do the club thing; not in front of so many people; his cool persona would go down the drain with either the funky chicken or some pelvic thrusts. He really should've done it anyway to prevent Gavin pulling on her forearm, "Come on, I'll go with you."

"Really?"

"Yes," he slid out and waited as she did too, "It'll be fun, Bella."

The only thing Arthur could come up with was, "You do know her name is Ariadne, right?"

The girl looked over her shoulder at him. Was he joking? Gavin never broke contact with her waist while he pivoted back to Arthur. "I do. But guess what, Bella means beautiful in Italian…and I consider that her name as well. Don't you?"

"No, I'm sure he'd rather use the word _different_." Ariadne winced at Arthur, sort of apologizing that he'd been beat at his own retort or whatever it was and let Gavin lead her out into the throngs.  
xxxxxx

Arthur paced by the bar. Eames had been watching the Point Man gradually lose all composure since that Robin Thicke, Blurred Line, single came on and he had a fit about the lyrics and message of the song. Their Extractor had found his own pretty lady to talk to and dance with so he was oblivious to the situation.

_All the way across the room, through wiggling and spazzy bodies he could see Ari and Gavin laughing and mouthing all the words, "Does she realize what all that is implying?" "She's twenty-four, Arthur, I'm sure she does." The way she ruffled her hair and moved around—it made Arthur a little nauseous. It probably would've had a different effect if he was the one on the receiving end. Her hips…her shoulders…He sneered, "Where did she even learn to—do that. That concert, I bet." Eames was so tired of hearing it…he rolled his eyes and continued trying to catch the eye of the blonde on the dance floor closest to him, "Number one, she's a woman," he simpered at the figure in front of him who remained uninterested (Eames would wear her down. She had to look eventually), "they just know how. Number two, she was a college student, I'm sure she's done this before."_

He averted his eyes the rest of the time to seem unaffected (that cover was already blown, Darling). But when they didn't come back after one dance and she touched him (on the shoulder…you prude), he got up and headed to the bar to clear his head. Eames wasn't having a good night either…the blonde never looked at him and the one exotic beauty he'd caught up with, was with someone. Out of boredom (and not wanting to look unpopular by himself) mostly, he took pity on the Point Man and joined him at the bar, "Hey, you alright, bud?"

He winked at the woman beside him and hopped onto the barstool to watch the suited nerd lose his mind. "I'm fine Eames." Arthur gave him the 'not in the mood for shit, please leave me alone' look. "Yeah, well it looks like you're fixing to combust any second." With a slap on the counter, the Brit asked the bartender hastily, "Can I get two whiskies?"

The beverages were slid over to him and he shoved on at Arthur, "Now. What is the damage? Stress from work?"

The Point really didn't have to say anything. Eames could follow his eye line and put the puzzle pieces together. "His hands are all over her and she's just letting it happen like its normal." Is that what they did when they left the warehouse early and grabbed drinks? Is that what they did that night Gavin took her to karaoke? Arthur downed the shot and Eames ordered him up another. "They're just dancing."

"Maybe to her but you heard what kind of things go through his mind. Does she know what she's encouraging?" He grabbed the refilled glass, leant his back against the counter, "I mean Ariadne has more integrity and self-respect than that—than to let just anyone do that. Especially a guy like him, who doesn't respect her boundaries. She should've slapped him by now." The Point looked down and moved his glass around to make the liquid swish. The Forger agreed with that. Gavin wasn't his favorite person and he would've never matched them up purposely but Ariadne was young and having fun. Plus, she could handle herself. Eames' eyes nearly popped out of his head when the two stopped in the middle of the dance floor, laughed, and Ariadne let Gavin lean forward and kiss her. It would turn into an international disaster if the Point Man caught them. Before his friend could look up, Eames tried to evade by pointing to a sign behind the bartender urgently, "Arthur what's that sign say?"

"Happy Hours are 11pm to 2am." He gave him a dumb glare, "You're nearsighted—" Then unfortunately his eyes wandered back to the Architect. (He couldn't keep his eyes off, after all.) His shot glass slammed onto the bar top. "Why is she letting him kiss her?" Eames requested something stronger for Arthur. He needed to chill out.

This was the moment he dreaded. Gavin had officially stolen all chances of Ariadne having feelings for Arthur. He felt lightheaded. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to rip the organs out of his stomach so they'd stop feeling the way they did. "She's acting like they're together or something…"

Eames waved his hand in their direction flippantly, "Uhh…I mean he took her to that concert, they get dinner, he obviously makes his interest in her known. What girl would deny that attention?" Then he saw it. The little green monster hiding in the pupils of Arthur's eyes as he watched Ariadne with another man. Brows knitted, death grip on his glass, a sliver of hurt in the way he held his jaw. Flabbergasted but ecstatic (he'd been pushing for this far too long) he breathed, "Bloody hell…I've been right this whole time. You have a thing for the tiny Architect."

"Maybe I do…" Arthur made his eyes into little slits and silently egged Eames to do something about it. The Forger only had to smirk and direct his attention back to the pair of dancers to elicit, "Fine! Yes. I do. I fucking hate it but I do."

Eames grimaced, "Well then the whole Chemist thing must be tough…" then alighted, "Hey! Let's duct tape a bullhorn to the bottom of his chair and video him wetting his pants. That'll get him out of the way."

"Ariadne and I have an understanding though." Arthur's eyebrows furrowed further, witnessing the comfortable exchanges with despondency, "Why would she do this? She knows how I—"

Eames almost spit out his whisky. She knew? The stick in the mud opened his pie-hole and said something and he wasn't present to record it? Damn! "You've told her!?"

The Point shook his head, "But I drive her back to the hotel sometimes, I bring her coffee in the morning, we talk on breaks…I took her to lunch for her Birthday and—got her a variety of gifts. We joke, the way we—sometimes we just share this look and—"

This poor kid really thought he was making a case for himself with that. He listed them off like he was listing off: 'and I brought her flowers and I bought a ring and I proposed.' And you know with how closed off Arthur was—perhaps all that little stuff was as monumental to him as that but for real humans…"And?"

Arthur gaped. "_And?"_ Bringing her coffee was a big deal. He never bought anyone's coffee but his own. He doesn't buy co-workers lunch and presents for their birthday, he doesn't even give them cards, they're special if they get a 'you're fifty today' passing comment. He made it clear he was concerned for her safety and there was effort shown by personally escorting her or using his gas to drive her to the hotel because he could've merely paid for and seen her into a cab and it have been sufficient. It was embarrassingly obvious he did it to make an excuse for more time alone with her. He let her interrupt his research for whatever, even if she wanted to discuss how blue the sky was or something completely irrelevant to their work. He interrupted his own research on many occasions to go make small talk. Sure it was about the models or generic life events but he was talking. And joking. Arthur wasn't a joker. He and Ariadne shared many a laugh. She could make him laugh, wasn't that telling enough? And the way she made him feel when she stood close. She did that for a reason, to make him _feel, _he knew it because of the look in her eyes when she did. Like it was as wonderful for her, like she was testing the waters. There was _something_ there. Everyone knew it…Eames and Cobb and Miles and Penelope and James and Philippa and Mr. Holt and Nathan and Ms. Bourgeois had suspected it long before now.

"So what? You smile at her every once in a while? You let her keep the highlighters she borrows and she's supposed to gather that you've got the hots for her?"

"I would've rather you worded it differently but yes. Precisely."

"Arthur…say all that again. Does any of that sound romantic? If Ariadne suspects you have feelings for her than she suspects those feelings are the same as her mother's." Eames broke it to him not so gently.

The Point Man didn't comment. (It made a point that stung when he really thought about it in comparison to what others do to show affection.) Ariadne and the Italian sex addict were going back to the table and he intended to make sure he didn't get Ariadne wasted and carry her off somewhere. Not before Arthur could pull her into a corner and fight to express himself, fight to show her what she'd done to him. "Can I have a water please?" Arthur snatched the bottle and marched on, calling behind him to Eames, "Let's go."

Xxxxxx

It was a good sign that she smiled at him when they got up to let him scoot in. He wondered if she knew he saw their lip-lock. There was hope he could turn events around before he saw Gavin's hand come to rest on her hip. Arthur tried to keep the grind of his jaw hidden and placed the cold bottle in front of her, "Here, you 've been drinking a lot, you should keep hydrated."

"Thanks." Ariadne didn't seem to protest. She seemed genuinely appreciative and uncapped it to take a swig.

"Where's _my_ water Point Man?" Gavin leered and lightly punched Arthur in the arm with the hand that had been on her hip. He used Arthur's title because he wanted to make a point of encroachment on he and Ariadne's friendship. They called each other Point Man and Architect freely at the warehouse.

Arthur (his temper had already been provoked at the start of the night. Being the better man and ignoring the idiot like he normally had ease doing wasn't an option) bit back, "You have legs. Get your own, asshole."

Everyone at the table was taken aback by his language and sudden snap but Ariadne seemed to be the only one _confused_ why he was so upset. Ariadne touched his elbow with her palm, "Hey, are you ok?"

He could just blurt out his feelings for her right there in front of everyone… Arthur almost opened his mouth to but saw Gavin's thumb on her shoulder, rubbing up and down. "I'm fine." He wouldn't look at her. Couldn't anymore. He downed the glass of whisky he brought over.

The Parisian knew him well enough to remain unconvinced. Especially, after the look she exchanged with Eames that told her_ something_ was wrong just not _what_. Her hand moved to curl around his bicep and tug, "Arthur…" His eyes closed instinctually, her whisper was like a siren song. Like hypnosis. The Point Man couldn't resist, he met her eyes again, drowning in the brown. Melting into a puddle at her feet when her thumb rubbed up and down, "What's wrong?"

He licked his lips. Now or never. "Ari, I have—"

"Aw, Point Man's ego is bruised!" cackled Gavin.

"You shut up." Arthur glared over her shoulder and she turned back sharply too, "Gav, stop." Behind her, Arthur observed their intimate form of communication. "Babe, I'm just making a joke," his hand pulled her hair back. Her hand grabbed his chin, "I know but stop. For me?" Arthur couldn't take it. How could she so openly be with Gavin in front of him? He hated her. He absolutely—she made him so angry! Her hand rested over his when she returned her attention and it felt like it was on fire. But not in the good way. Like he'd actually stuck his hand in a bonfire and his skin was bubbling and blistering off. Why did it hurt so deep and raw when she touched him now? It used to feel nice. And Ariadne's voice peeled him apart when she spoke instead of making him tingle, "Come on, let's go talk."

Arthur crackled to life in spite, "I told you Ariadne, I'm fine, just back off!" He shouted at her wide, dumbfounded eyes.

"_Okay_, okay..." She released him and breathed, "Geeze, I'm sorry for caring about you." Ariadne completely turned away from him to appease his temper. Arthur could've punched himself. That was not the way to extract her from Gavin's arms. That was the way to push her into them. He swallowed, looking at Eames who was pointing to her and insisting he apologize—he was going to anyway. Arthur took a deep breath, snaked his hand on top of hers on the table and murmured, "I'm sorry Architect." The Point Man regarded her with so much sincerity and adoration. Such tenderness. As such a vulnerable ball of tension and feelings that wrangled to straighten themselves out and show themselves to her that it showed. It finally showed all over him that he was completely taken by her. Eames could've passed out from the shock that the Point was capable. And Ariadne—wasn't even paying attention. Her head was huddled over a songbook with Gavin's.

"No really, I'll go up there and sing one for you if you want. Which one?"

She squealed, "Oh, they have Bad Romance!" then pointed to the line, "Lady Gaga, number 12c."

"_Lady Gaga_?" Arthur couldn't help but chide like a douchebag. It must've been a form of bipolar disorder. Because one second, she was the stars in the sky and he wanted to confess his sentiments and drag her into a kiss that made her head spin off and the next he wanted to yell and scream and hurt her with the nastiest, meanest words he could find. Make her cry. So he knew he could make her feel something for him. Anything.

"Yes?" Ariadne's eyes slid to him and dared him to shit talk her choice.

Arthur winced, talked down at her, "Don't you think her artistic integrity has been slacking lately?"

"Hold up." Ariadne lifted her free palm in his face, "There have been some flops but you have to admit Bad Romance is _relatable_." Arthur deadpanned at her, uninterested. Eames mentally slapped his forehead because the Point missed the double meaning she slyly slipped in there. It made Arthur seethe because he thought she was implying it was relatable for her and Gavin. But the way she leaned in to him like it was a challenge, the quirk of her eyebrow, how she cut her eyes down to where his hand was still rested on hers and back up suggested she was endeavoring to convey hidden feelings of her own. It was the perfect opportunity and he blew it by shrugging, "I don't think so." Eames saw her shift uncomfortably and knew the reason she ripped her hand from beneath Arthur's wasn't because she really wanted to cross her arms and lean back. It was because she felt rejected. She felt embarrassed. "Plus there are three Hitchcock references in the third verse _and_ the use of the word schtick. So…you got admit that's pretty clever."

All he needed was Gavin's nod of concurrence to shoot it down, "No I think it's pretty pathetic."

Ariadne couldn't believe the way he was acting. He was fine earlier. He was bestowed a curt smile, "Well good thing I'm not asking _you_ to sing it for me. Not that you would." The Point's nose flared as she turned her back to him again and Gavin suggested, "What about this one? 43a. My Girl. I could do an acoustic with that guitar and have those guys up there doowop."

"Aww, that would be so cute!" She nodded. "Alright, I'm doing it." No it wouldn't be cute. He was fooling her with the vintage song. It was all part of his ruse to get in her pants and Arthur wanted to shake her to make her realize that and/or knee Gavin in the crotch.

And/or shoot himself.

Humor was all he had left in him now. Arthur rolled his eyes and laughed to himself at Gavin. First off, he tried to impress her with using the guitar and spent fifteen minutes trying to tune it and find the pick. Halfway through the song, his bitter self couldn't bear it and decided to one up the guy. He'd played guitar in high school. If Ariadne pleasantly swayed and smiled at Gavin for sucking at it; it'd be all too easy. Instead of making her move, he slid around and made Eames get up, "Whoa, where are you going?"

Arthur sneered, "She wants me to sing that god-awful pop song? Then I'll do it. Anything would sound better than his screeching." Almost maniacally, his suit jacket was pulled off and thrown past Eames. His wallet surfaced so he could retrieve a few bills for the karaoke.

"I don't think—"

"No, apparently all the little things I do are not enough," complained a hissing Arthur, rolling up his sleeves as if he was fixing to perform surgery. "She needs a big gesture? I'll give her a huge blinking sign."

"Mate, you're drunk." The Forger tried to yank Arthur's arm and make him sit back down. Drunk, jealous, upset and first time crusher was not a good mix to hold a microphone in front of the public. Arthur was acting spontaneous and rash and NOTHING good ever came from Arthur being impulsive. The Point Man swatted him off, "Not nearly enough."

Then Eames took the initiative to stand up and physically sit the other man (that he might as well admit was his friend) down. "You're also a smidge heartbroken. Don't go up there and make things worse just talk to the girl."

"I can't talk to her," rasped the Point. He glanced at her back, her curls bouncing while she snapped and side-stepped to Gavin's song. "I don't know what to say or how to say it. And even when I do, I can't manage it. I need someone to put the words in my mouth."

The Englishman panned, "So you're choosing Lady Gaga? Jesus…I'll give you some. Just say: Ariadne, I'm sorry for being an asshole but I'm crazy about you."

"I have to outdo the Chemist. I have to show her I care more. He's almost done, I need to go up there—" After another gulp of alcohol he was off. Ignoring Eames': "Arthur, if you use that song she's going to think you're mocking her."

Ariadne walked back to the table and sat when Gavin's (admittedly bad, Arthur wasn't biased) version of the song was over (but his accent was hot) and blinked at the empty seat, "Where'd Arthur go?"

As Gavin jogged up to their booth and hugged Ariadne, "Hey! Name's Arthur," blared over the speakers in the club.

Ariadne twisted to the stage, baffled to see the Point Man on it.  
xxxxxxx

_I want your love and I want your revenge.  
You and me could write a bad romance. –_Bad Romance by Lady Gaga

Straight up the whole 'how was your night' 'it was great' 'they slept together' was totally a paraphrase from 500 Days of Summer, I don't claim it.

Ok so when I told you guys it was intense I thought the part from the next chapter was also going to be included. But for length reasons I cut before the next part. Anyways…what do we think? I didn't show what happened between Ari and Gav on her birthday because I wanted us readers to know as much about what happened as Arthur does. I bet you all loved that Gavin and Ariadne fought though. What did we think of Arthur's basic meltdown at the club? hahah. Also how do you think his performance is going to go over? Based on Eames' reaction, how do you think Ariadne will take it?

**Want a Sneak Peek for Next Chapter? **Then head on over to my profile under the Story Elaborations cut. There's a link to Joseph Gordon-Levitt (Arthur) singing Bad Romance. Just picture him dressed up more. That is exactly where I got the idea for the song and a very drunk Arthur making a fool out of himself (because the end raspyness is perfect). This is what Ariadne will witness right down to every last intonation and his alteration of the French lyrics. (Some of her dialogue about Alfred Hitchcock was taken from the video as well)


	16. Something's Come Over Me

Thanking you in a hurry! Because I want you to get to reading this…I LOVE this chapter. I hope you share my sentiments.

_Lauraa-x: _Yes, Joe's cover is to die for. He is making a bit of an effort…which is a big deal for him and his personality. Umm more Eames in this chapter. Plus a lot of frustration but it'll pay off I promise. Winky face inserted here. _numbah435spriritsong: _ Haha Arthur is fixing to have a mental breakdown I think…_wilddarkhaunt: _WOW! Thank you for all the reviews! Glad my story finally caught your eye and you enjoyed a little marathon With You fest. =) And thank you so much for the sweet sweet compliments about my writing and plot. I tried to add a smidge more of Ariadne's thoughts in this chappie for ya. Its not a ton though. Also, I'm sorry but I can't throw Gavin off a cliff. I can tell you that it'll pay off. Like I literally promise. _Lilachiccups: _lol. Arthur thanks you for his whisky and vodka to help deal with this. _Amelia-Rose: _Thank you for the condolences. Truly. It was my uncle who lived in a different country. I wasn't entirely close to him but my dad was very, very close. It was harder seeing him grieve. But things are looking up again for now. Ehh…we'll see about that head over heel thing. _Guest: _Yeah, way out of the box! It could go really great or horribly wrong.

Yo! HUGE GRATITUDE PIE to _Skyler13: _For favoriting and following both Me and the Story (and a few other stories.) Literally WOW. I'm honored. Thank you, thank you.

**Chapter 16: Something's Come Over Me**

"Hey! Name's Arthur," blared over the speakers in the club. Ariadne twisted to the stage, baffled to see the Point Man on it. Holding a guitar in front of a microphone no less. She glimpsed at Eames, who banged his head against the table. "And I'm fixing to make waiting for that guy to tune his fucking guitar worth it because _I _can actually play one." The back beat started up but Arthur held his fingers up to the DJ, "Wait—" The track halted and he began his introduction sarcastically, "This song is dedicated to my good, good, _great _friend, Ariadne." He grinned and pointed straight at her in that happy drunken state most morons dwelled in. A multitude of eyes locked on their table, "Raise your hand at the back table. Hi. Now she thinks this song is _soooooo_ relatable…I tell you what, I think it's a bunch of whining and metaphors." The audience laughed, "You said I wouldn't sing it for you if you asked but what does this look like to you?" He let the strap of the guitar hang from his shoulders and held his palms out towards the audience. Ariadne gaped at him, then Eames, then stood in front of the table with arms agitatedly crossed, trying her best to ward off the stares she was accumulating.

Things could only go horribly wrong from here thought the Englishman. He could easily tell (from earlier) that Arthur was pouring his negative emotions into the song. (It really was relatable to them). However, without the knowledge that Arthur was bloody beside himself not knowing what to do with his abrupt overwhelming feelings for Ariadne, it sounded like he was making fun of the song. And _her._ Ever since the beginning—the moment they all started working together on the Fischer Job—the Forger observed their way of dealing with each other at a distance. An attraction was always there, stubborn asses, but they misinterpreted any and every thing that could be misinterpreted. For the Point Man and Architect, each detail needed to be straightforward yet they were always skirting around their real feelings and lying to the other's face, saying what they thought the other wanted to hear. Which was _never _what the other wanted to hear.No wonder their love life was out of whack. Incriminating the theory of mockery to Ariadne more, at the third verse Arthur stopped and directly quoted his 'good, good, _great _friend, Ariadne': "Now for those of you still doubting the artistic integrity of Lady Gaga…" and while pitching his voice higher to imitate hers was a nice touch…it was dumb. So dumb, "this next verse has _three _Hitchcock references plus the use of the word shtick. Pretty good."

The other women in the bar (nearly every woman but the one he cared about) seemed to enjoy his rendition. The gruffness, the 'interaction' with the crowd. They hooted and hollered (maybe Eames should get up there and be a moron) and he winked back. As his performance went on, Arthur got more comfortable being on display wheras Ariadne began fidgeting. The Forger could tell that her anger was subsiding into something more like hurt. Instead of furious she was self-conscious and upset. Especially when he got to the part in French...God bless him. The Point Man _truly _was attempting to be open and vulnerable for the girl from the bottom of his circuitry board. See, Arthur changed the words around from the original song in a spur of the moment, plastered in the limelight type thing. Eames understood key words but since they were in Rome and everyone spoke Italian (and at the most some English), the variation in words were meant for _her_ to hear. And while the stick in the sinking sand (it was much worse than mud now, pal) probably meant it in the heat of the moment as a drunken, sputtering confession to Ariadne…she took it like he was again, teasing and poking fun at her. "Je veux ton amour. Et je veux tu baiser. Je veux ton amour. Non, je ne me soucie pas après." Without putting it lightly, that translated to: I want your love and I want to fuck you. I want your love. I don't care about after."

The heat in her face was unmistakable. The hard swallows were evident. Gavin tried to soothe her by resting his hand on her back again but she shoved him off. The Parisian wholeheartedly believed that Arthur was saying because she liked the song and all its metaphors that that's the kind of person she was. That she was desperate. (Because while he believed they both thought she was speaking of its relevance to her and the Chemist and was trying to prove her wrong, that it was about _them_…Ariadne believed they both thought she was thinking of her and the Point in the first place and this was blatant public rejection.) That she was concerned only with sex and that after that was done she would find someone else to throw herself at. And the fact that he called her out on it in front of a whole building full of people,that that's who she was in his eyes, whether others could understand the middle part or not was humiliating. Ariadne grabbed her wristlet before he finished and stormed outside.

Disdainfully, Mr. Eames saw a chewed up bottom lip and blinking eyes when Ariadne yanked her arm out of Gavin's and raced off. Poor thing. And she had no reason to be that way. On the other hand, Eames was glad Arthur seemed relieved from the confining pressures of harbored affections once he stepped offstage and strolled to the booth. But quickly back to the other hand, he was also ready to choke him for his idiocy. The Extractor gave him a thumbs up from the dance floor when he passed. The bugger was just as oblivious as Ariadne and Arthur. Speaking of which, "Where's Ariadne?" Both Gavin and he glared at the speaker but the Forger was the one who sharply pointed to the exit, "You've really done it you little shit."

The recent entertainer was grinning ear to ear, feeling so elated from the admission popping off his chest that he didn't understand what actually happened. In his head, he just won her over. "What do you mean?"

"I told you she would think you were making fun of her…"

The grin dropped. Suddenly, Arthur was all sobered up.

xxxxxxx

The latter rushed outside and looked for the Architect on the pavement in a frenzy, "Ariadne…" She was on the curb waiting. Barefoot. Her heels hanging from her fingers. He gaited to her on the damp sidewalk (must have rained while they were inside) and touched her shoulder, "Ariadne."

"Could you just—" stuttered the woman as she stepped away from him, blinking back water. He'd just broken her heart in front of a hundred plus people. Ariadne had always, always, always known he would never reciprocate the pitiful, fruitless little crush she had on him but she would've never imagined he'd let her down like that. So unkindly. So contrived. Arthur was supposed to be a gentleman.

The gentleman sighed. Evidently the night had been a disaster and everything between them was taken the wrong way. He needed to sit her down and just talk. Logically. Like the normal Arthur would. Enough pretense and ambiguity. Just straight to the point: I want to be with you. "It's not safe to be out here alone. Let's go back inside and talk about this. Just the two of us."

"I _want_ to be _alone_." A cab screeched to halt in front of her and she hopped in without delay. The door handle was pulled with such force she could've ripped it off. "Why don't you go inside yourself? Or, I don't know, find a cliff to fall off of or something."

In the niche of time, The Point grabbed the top of the door and held it open, "I'm—I don't know what I was thinking."

"Evidently not of nicer ways to express your hatred for me." No that was all wrong. Completely opposite. Had she not heard the lyrics? She knew the song by heart. Over and over, he rasped that he wanted her love. How on earth could she have taken it any different? He'd all but jammed his hand into his ribcage and pulled out his beating, life sustaining, blood pumping organ for her on stage. "Hatred?! No, I wasn't trying to express hatr—Ari, I'm—I have fee—" he had to flinch back as she slammed the door through his grasp.

The taxi skidded off.

There wasn't much fun waiting for him inside the club after the debacle. Heavier than before, he trudged back in to collect his jacket, pocket his wallet and pay off his tab before heading straight back to their hotel. He snubbed Eames' suggestions and Gavin's scolding because he was suffering from enough of both in his own head. Between jealousy and guilt, Arthur didn't know the worse of the two beasts. The Point Man combed the hairs on his head back with his fingers to look less disheveled before knocking on her room door. He waited. And waited. The sounds of Food Network (if he assumed correct) were all that came for a while before two shadows that looked a lot like feet appeared at the bottom of her door.

His eyes flew up to the peephole, imagining she might be looking at him through it. He looked at it soft and remorseful like it was her eyes, "Ari?"

On the other side, Ariadne stood. Hand and gaze fixed on the deadbolt. She hadn't changed out of her dress yet, though she did come in, wipe the makeup off, irately fight with the clasp on her necklace to drop on the desk and then lie on the bed and curse herself for not shagging Gavin and getting the Point Man out of her head while she still could have. The cause of all her troubles murmured through the door, "Ariadne? I can explain my behavior. But I'd rather not do it through the door…" That made _that _decision. The Parisian was far from being in the mood to look at him.

In the hallway, his gaze dropped to the ground to find the shadows gone. Perhaps he'd retire to his own room, take a shower and give her time to cool down. Then he'd call, see if she'd meet him on the roof or something.  
xxxxxxx

Like well-timed clockwork, Arthur showed up at her desk on Monday with her usual latte in his hand, "I tried calling you last night." No answer, he placed the cup down next to her hand, "And I stopped by your room. I guess you were already asleep." He knew she wasn't. The light was on, the tv was on, he saw the shadows of her feet at the bottom of the door for a second…she was inside her room and awake just ignoring him. Like now. No answers. No acknowledgement that he even existed. The Point Man slid the cup until it nudged her fist and her eyes cut up to him, "Can we talk?"

The coffee cup entered her hand long enough to be picked up and and thrown into the trash before her head buried back down in the blueprints, "I'm working."

It was hard not to stare despondently at the beverage leaking out into the can. There was another metaphor: the coffee was like his hope. Trickling out of him slowly. Arthur breathed, "I didn't mean most of what I said last night."

"Yes, you did. What is it? Do you like embarrassing me in front of the team?" The Architect frowned at him, "In front of _Gavin_?" He thought to himself early that morning as he was knotting his tie that he would be grateful for just one returned gaze no matter the context. Except the disappointment waiting for him in it made that notion shrink. Especially when she added, "It's like you haven't had a productive day until you've made me look like a desperate, tragic little girl in front of him."

He tried to joke to lighten the moment, "Embarrassing people is Eames' job."

"Yeah? Well you're sure doing a good job at taking it over for him." Ariadne contemplated stabbing the hand inching towards hers on the table with her pencil. Maybe that was too much?

Arthur was pushing this. He was going to straighten this out and make a proper apology. He was going to sweep her off her size five and a half feet and make sure there was no doubt about it, "About last—"

Ariadne glanced at everyone in the building, with a lingering one on the Chemist. "No. I'm not about to be degraded in front of the team again. I'm not talking to you in a warehouse full of witnesses."

"Then let's go for a walk." Bravely, he caressed upper arm, "Let me take you somewhere. _Anywhere_. Let's smooth this over." Ariadne stayed silent, (he could apologize all he wanted. The sting of rejection wouldn't hurt any less. She'd rather he just leave it be and let her get used to it) arranging her models in a specific order. So he fished for the purple tulip in his breast pocket and brushed a few of her fingers with it, "Listen. Over the past few months, I've noticed that you and I—"

The woman pulled away from him and turned her back, "I'm working."

His tulip met the same fate as her latte.  
xxxxxxx

Victor, the Extractor had just left and Eames left at dinner. The lone person standing in the way of Arthur and complete privacy with Ariadne was the Italian. As always, he supposed. Ariadne was propped up in her chair, with knees to her chest going over the checklist of additions she had constructed over the day. Arthur watched over his laptop across the way: The Chemist twirled her seat around to face him, "I'm heading out. Wanna grab a drink?" He held the helmet out for her to take with a grin.

Ariadne wasn't as sprite with him as normal. "I need to finish this," calmly rejected the girl.

It wasn't a full on laugh but she hiccupped a giggle when Gavin pulled her chair by the arms so that he was nose to nose. It was the first time all day she remotely acted like Ariadne so even though it was for the Chemist, Arthur clung to the sound. Memorized the tightlipped smile like he hadn't seen it for years. "It's close enough," waved the Chemist's hand, "Come on, Princess," then he went in for a kiss.

"Not tonight, Gavin," mumbled the woman, turning her head from him. The Architect put her feet down and pushed her chair back to her desk. He walked behind solemnly. "Is this because of what that douche bag did last night? Is that why you've been acting weird all day?" She made no comment. "You want me to punch his lights out?" Ariadne resumed going through her checklist, she only gave him a headshake in answer.

Gavin leant on his elbows on the worktable and talked lower so Arthur couldn't hear (but he still could), "Forget him, ok? His opinion doesn't matter."

"It does to me. Especially since it's a low one." Fiddling with her yardstick, she retorted.

The Italian groaned but a few seconds later came back with: "Well, if I leave, you'll be trapped alone with him." She looked like she paused and pondered that for a moment. Arthur bolted his head down to his computer when she peeked over at him. He didn't want her to think he was eavesdropping (even though he was) and worsen their problems.

It would be awkward, the Architect told herself. And with him on her back all day about discussing the night before, Arthur would surely pounce on her once Gavin was gone. "Ok." Ariadne took the helmet.

When the Point Man glanced back up, not only did he discover she accepted the helmet but that she also accepted a peck on the lips. Arthur felt like he was cracking. Now, he _really had_ to fix this. The Point Man was not going to give up.  
xxxxxxx

So he backed off and let the woman have her space the next day. She willingly came to his area once to ask for the PASIV. Apparently, there were ideas she wanted to try out in the dream before she integrated them into her designs. Make sure they were possible before she taught them to the dreamers or slaved over ways to create a visual of them on the model and wasted time. Arthur knew it was a stretch but he figured that going under with her would force a conversation. Or at the very least, a listening ear long enough to spit out what he needed. The dilemma? The ideal condition to catch her in the dream would be a cleared warehouse so any personal details or dramatics would be left out of office gossip if they woke on unfriendly terms. Except, Gavin rarely left without her. It took until dinner time—Victor requested Gavin help him grab food for the Team and sometime after the Architect plugged up, Eames headed back to the hotel to pick up a folder of subject photos he'd forgotten. If there was a perfect opportunity, this was it. Arthur made quick to plug in and enter the dream.

Ariadne was sitting cross legged on the stairs of a large Tuscan estate, fooling with the levels and optical illusions of the hills in the distance. Arthur never tired of strolling through her imagination. Ariadne's mind was one of his favorite places to gain inspiration. She was full of ideas and light and ingenuity. He'd yet to see the dreamer's rendition of the Villa Level but if even the surface of this masterpiece was scratched it would do the trick. It screamed Italian countryside from the explosion of warm colors in the sky to the smell of sundried tomatoes in the garden to the vines growing up the stucco walls. The sun glistening off her hair made the tresses as bronzy caramel as her eyes and the clement breeze made her light blue blouse billow and fold periodically. Slowly, so as not to disturb or alarm her, Arthur descended the stairs and took a seat next to her without word.

Since no one else was supposed to be with her, the feeling of another presence freaked her the hell out. All she saw was a dark figure to her right and she'd had too many run ins with the late Mrs. Cobb to take pop-up projections lightly. Pulling a firearm out of thin air (literally. She dreamt one up), she scooted back and pointed it at the body before she realized who it belonged to. Ariadne's grip tightened, "Holy shit. He's literally driving me crazy…" Deep breath. Hammer pulled.

"Wait, it's really me." Only one of his hands held up in surrender and quite calmly for a regular person when their life was threatened if you asked her. The woman narrowed her eyes at him, her firm hold on the firearm and target between his eyes remaining. This Arthur _did _lack the malicious undertone she attributed to shades. In fact, this Arthur was full of that eagerness to speak she'd worked tooth and nail to avoid in reality. Nevertheless, Ariadne took a leap of faith and laid the gun behind her. Just because she trusted he was real didn't mean she was happy with him for being there. "What are you doing in my dream?"

"I figured joining you down here would give us a chance to talk privately," replied the Point Man. He was doing it again: Speaking like he was reciting a dictionary instead of speaking like a love-struck man. He couldn't help it. It was reflexive and he was so terrified of saying the wrong thing again. His brain automatically overworked itself to find the right sentence when truthfully the right thing to say in Ariadne's eyes was any spontaneous, unplanned string of honesty.

One of her eyebrows rose…not a good sign. "You mean you thought it'd be a great place to corner me?"

"Yes. If you want me to be frank," gritted the man at her continuous unwillingness to let him confess. "It's urgent that we talk."

What more did he want from her? What more could he possibly say? Maybe he thought he needed to take drastic measures at the club because he believed his subtle hints (he was a tease sometimes though!) about keeping their relationship platonic wasn't getting through to her. Well, Ariadne got the message. And she needed more than anything for him to know she got it so he could stop all of these demeaning attempts to make himself clear. Ariadne stood on the steps, some iron railing rising from the ground with her to help her ascent when she chose to make it. "No it isn't," spat the Architect, "You've said everything you've needed to. Your missive read loud and clear." Here is where she decided to make her ascent and headed up the porch.

The man stood with her, of course, and followed. Actually…he beat her to the top because his legs were longer and could skip more stairs. He blocked her reentrance to the villa with his maddeningly suave tailored suit and dark, remorseful eyebrows. Pity. She hated pity. "No I haven't. Trust me, there is more I need to say." Even when it fell from his mouth all smooth and velvety. Drinking gasoline to set the butterflies in her stomach on fire was a strong consideration out of the options in her head for her next move.

The woman fought through them, trying and failing to dream them away, "Well considering how hurtful your initial statements were? I don't think I'm up for elaboration. In fact, I'm done now. We can wake up." Either Ariadne was a million times stronger when she was in control of the scape or Arthur let her shove him aside for a second. She settled on the latter when he came back ten-fold stronger than she recently felt, his hand searing prints into her wrist. The pattern of his breathing make those stupid butterflies reproduce and wander into her chest. If they kept multiplying and floated to her head she didn't think she could take it.

But then Arthur killed the pestering insects for her as he kept going anyway, "Gavin just…he got on my last nerve. You and him acting so comfortable and intimate together." Strangely, his eyes (which were usually entrancing) sparked murderously, "And the things he was saying about you…"

Oh hell no. Now Ariadne's face was on fire. And not from flattery or embarrassment but from anger. The Point Man had a hissy fit because _someone _was paying attention to her for once? Her appendage couldn't have ripped out of his any faster prior to literally shattering the glass french doors open to storm inside. "What? What things?! Like calling me beautiful? Like complimenting me? Like making me feel special? Your personal preference for relationship protocol in work circles does _not_ give you the right to publicly destroy someone for not behaving according to your _high moral standards. _And just because _you_ don't care about me doesn't mean it's a crime for someone else to_._"

Arthur had never seen anything like it. Then again, he'd never witnessed an Architect as connected to the dreamscape as her let the rage consume their surroundings. Mal was wonderfully talented but not even her shade could fully control the environment and Cobb's tantrums were always grief-guided. He was following her through the expensive home as the ceramics cracked and the light fixtures bent and flickered. Arthur wasn't referring to the nice things Gavin said to her face. He was thinking of all the derogatory, suggestive, disrespectful things he said about the rest of her. Arthur yelled at her back over he sounds of metal crunching, "I care about you. I care a great deal, Ari! More than you give me credit for!"

"Oh really?" All movement in dreamscape stopped as she twisted back to him, "Because you made a fool out of me this weekend in front of a hundred plus strangers. For _fun._"

Arthur corrected, "If I made a fool out of anyone, it was me." He did his best not to let the idle squeak of the swinging pendant light in the dining room distract him for her hard (but gradually mellowing) glare. "I shouldn't have brought this conversation about by being an idiot onstage. I should've just come to you and explained this one on one: See, ever since the Fischer job, I've had this inkling that—"

Ariadne didn't want to stand there and have him patronize her about her evident infatuation with him during Inception. She didn't want to repeat that phone conversation they'd had a month or so back. To be told what she feeling and then that it was wrong. Feelings weren't wrong. The buzz from head to toe she felt when they hugged or the joy she got from laughing over something trivial with him weren't things to be ashamed of and yet he made her feel that way regardless. She was tired of it and just wanted to be done with him. So she shot herself awake while he was preoccupied with scripting his thoughts.

Mid-sentence, his friend dropped to the ground in a pool of blood and left him in a crumbling dream. Arthur just couldn't catch a break, could he? When he woke, her lead was strewn carelessly off her lawn chair and across the floor and Ariadne's from was retreating quickly towards the back of the warehouse to escape out the fire exit no less…The Point Man didn't bother with coiling his cord either, or holding an alcohol pad to the puncture wound, or anything that wasn't gaiting to block her from leaving again. This time instead of merely taking hold of her hand (which she could wriggle away) he stuck his arms out and corralled her against the wall by the doorway, "I can't stand you being upset with me."

Rolling her eyes and fixing them on her method of departure, the Architect cheekily commented, "Somehow I think you'll be fine." Arthur had this magnificent and dazzling yet depressing talent of dropping her sarcasm meter from five hundred to negative two. Logically, he had more than one technique but this time he did it by pressing his body against hers in one fatal, star-erupting swoop. This is exactly how she got mixed signals!

"Despite the trivial crap going on between us, Ariadne, you are one of my best friends. I told you about my mother's death, my father's disownment, not even Cobb knows those details. You _are _special to me. Extremely special. Over the course of the last month or so I've felt like you have—"

Some friend…he wouldn't give it up. Arthur knew how much she despised being accused of falling for him. Even though she internally had. Even though at that second she was battling her heart rate and lung dysfunction, "I don't want to hear it."

"You have to," he rasped, pressing her harder into the wall with an intensity that scared the shit out of her but thrilled her core. "I need to get this off my chest. I have deep f—"

"Who's hungraaaaaay?!" Sang Gavin, dancing in with Styrofoam take away boxes, followed by Victor with plastic bags and liters of tea and lemonade. Arthur didn't move. Truthfully, he planned not to. He planned to gaze into her lovely golden brown orbs until her stubbornness broke and she saw through him. Right through to the words he wanted to share. It was Ariadne who slipped under his right arm and hurried over to help her other team mates with the load of sustenance. "Starving!" She smiled. It was artificial but they couldn't tell.

Hands still glued to the wall, framing where her head used to be, Arthur sighed and watched her move around. This wasn't over. She would know.

xxxxxx

The warehouse was finally empty save for them. How that happened? An anomaly. The Trevi Fountain must've been on his side because Eames coaxed both Gavin and Vic into a guys' night at the bar and neither of them questioned the bore's objection to it. Arthur closed up his station, turned off the lights near his desk and ventured near her area. His footsteps were ignored other than Ariadne heaving a big breath and rolling her chair to the part of the desk farthest from him, pretending to be reading over some notes there. How dare she think she was the victim in this? She'd hurt him. The Point Man had about had enough of this touch and go. This tag-you're –it deal. He exploded on her, "You think you haven't humiliated _me_ the past couple weeks?" It wasn't his imagination. Arthur possessed incredible 20/20 vision since birth, he saw the minute perk in her ears. "You know, I thought— after you're birthday lunch—that we had an understanding between us."

Ariadne's face contorted into total confusion. The chair swiveled to face him, "An understanding? About what? Me drinking? My taste in music?"

His fist pressed into the desk, "You honestly haven't noticed?"

The girl's eyes went wide with frustration, "Noticed _what, _Arthur!?" Ok…she was ready to get this over with.

"That's perfect…" He laughed to himself sarcastically and began pacing with his fist over his lip, "here I've been tripping all over myself and you haven't had the faintest idea that I have been." Gauging her reaction one more time, he found there was no clue in her brain; his feelings were once again dashed. The morning after she'd come into Rome was that day he woke up and realized he was in deep shit. That what he'd been trying to avoid had already happened. Arthur had been fighting his better judgment and straining to put himself out there to show her he cared. He thought this whole time that she accepted his actions having at least a clue of that. "Forget I said anything." The mask closed back over his face and he turned to collect his things to leave.

"Ugh!"

Arthur felt the very heavy weight of a rubber band ball strike his back, "What the hell?" He ducked in case there was more and turned towards her in disbelief.

Ariadne was livid. She stood (let her chair fly backwards and collide with the wall). Her voice boomed and echoed in the warehouse as she yelled at him and it felt like all her words were bouncing off the walls and bombarding him from every angle, "You never just talk to me! You realize that? You expect me to be able to understand all of your subtle nuances and read your mind and then when I can't you shut me out. Just once, Arthur, indulge me! What is your problem?! You're like bi-polar or something. One minute you're freaking me out with how sweet you can be and the next you're ripping my head off because I like a song that you don't. YOU HURT ME AT THE CLUB! DO YOU REALIZE THAT? YOU _REALLY HURT_ ME."

Standing there and taking it blank faced like he should, Arthur let her get out what she needed to and then remorsefully walked back towards her to make his case, "I was drunk."

"Yeah. I hate you drunk." The noise diminished down to a normal volume, "And I wish I could say that's the only time you act like a psycho around me…but it's not. It's just worse." Arthur ground his jaw and looked at the ceiling. The girl was absolutely correct; his moods with her were hot and cold. He didn't know how to act, what to say, how to look at her to convey. Ariadne looked down at her feet, "I thought we were friends. You know? I thought we were close. Then as soon as I got to Rome…"

"As soon as you got to Rome, you started blowing me off for the Chemist—your superficial Italian model. I—" Just do it. He steeled and blurted it out, "you just, you drive me crazy."

"Me." Ariadne cut her eyes up. "What, I annoy you or something so you lash out? Real mature."

"Quite the opposite." His pulse was racing over two hundred miles per hour; he swore his throat had dried up like the desert. Ariadne watched in curiosity as his mouth opened and closed. He appeared to be getting angry at himself, looking down, licking his lips and gritting his teeth. He finally flickered his gaze to hers but it was hesitant, "I don't think I could get enough of you." Arthur swallowed and shot his gaze down again. His one hand was flexing. He acted nervous and never seeing him that way before, it made Ariadne nervous. Was he was having a reaction to something? A compound? She put away the fight for a moment, "Are you feeling, ok?" And rested her hand on his forehead to feel for fever (he was pretty warm and clammy).

Was she that dense? He grabbed her wrist and removed her hand from his forehead, irritated and ready to shout, "No, you're doing this to me. God…Ariadne, how can you not—" That was it. He would never get it across with words. It would take him all night if he worried over the right thing to say or whether she would catch on to hints or not. By her wrist, he pulled her flush into his body, anchored her neck with his other hand and crashed his lips onto hers like he wanted to do after lunch on her birthday. Her gasp of shock and tense of her muscles worried him for a split second but then she melted into him like butter on bread and returned his fervor. Then it was like a dam broke and all of his emotions for her burst out. Arthur couldn't physically push himself close enough or deepen their kisses quick and often enough. He went lightheaded when he felt the brush of her arms against the back of his neck as she wrapped them around it. As everything Ariadne encompassed and possessed him. Arthur instinctively picked her up and sat her on her desk, trying not to burst when she moaned. Then, the Point Man realized his chest was on fire not only because of her but because he needed air…he briefly contemplated letting himself suffocate (what a way to go) before tearing away. They were both breathing heavily.

His right mind flooded back to him all too quickly and he sobered up. He'd just thrown himself at her…his face flushed in shame. When her eyes finally fluttered open, they were dazed. Ariadne blinked profusely and she may have swayed a little. Where was she? What was her name, again? And what was his? Oh…Arthur. Arthur, back to his calculated demeanor, apologized with a straightening of his tie and smooth back of his hair, "I'm sorry. That was too forward of me."

"No. It was…" Ariadne trailed off and seemed to gather her bearings. Never in a million years was she expecting that. It was great and passionate but it was so fast and rough that it had been a blur. If he was in the mood to dole out kisses, she wanted to savor it. Ariadne bravely looked him in the eye, clutched the lapel of his jacket finger by finger, and drew him back to her. She only bestowed upon him a sweet and supple kiss that lasted around three seconds. Nose to nose, the Architect studied him. Let that heat in her face pool around in her stomach, her toes. As soon as she pulled away and opened her eyes, the closed up Point Man that stood before her was gone. Arthur was unguarded and wholly under her spell. Both sets of eyes were heavy lidded and invisible string seemed to wind them tighter together. Arthur and Ariadne gravitated in and pecked again. They deepened with a shuddering breath in between and discovered each other slower. Tasted each other sweeter.

After that, they laughed nervously. Ariadne bit her lip and hoped he wasn't fixing to regret it. That things weren't about to fade into awkwardness. Arthur shook his head at her, "I hate when you look at me like that."

"Why?"

"Because those frustrating, gorgeous eyes are my limbo." Since when did he become a poet? Once so unable to express himself to her, now unable not to.

Ariadne blushed and wiped the corner of her lips, "You know, I've had this silly schoolgirl infatuation with you since we met. I've been trying to shake it. I was positive you knew…I mean that's why you kissed me in the hotel during Inception right? That's why you tried it again on my birthday? To tease me? Have a little fun at my expense?" She suspected that may be what he was doing now.

He confessed, "I was having a little fun but not intentionally at your expense. I had no idea the gravity of what I'd gotten myself into until the job was over and I couldn't get you out of my mind." The Architect's eyebrows were raised listening to the word vomit. "Ariadne, you can't just sit there and pretend you haven't realized my feelings for you."

Ariadne stuttered, in disbelief of the revelation, "Your fee—You—I mean, you're not exactly the kind of guy that gives out signals…and when you do, they're mixed." Frantically, her mind went into overdrive and relayed every moment they'd spent together looking for signs she could've missed and didn't remember any advances from him. If anything, Ariadne was the one dropping signs and endeavors to flirt.

"But for you?" Arthur licked his lips, leaned his hands on either side of her and leaned in, "I've been trying. Maybe my efforts haven't been as extravagant as Gavin's. Or immense enough to be recognized as special but what little walls I've begun to wear down and what few kindnesses I've attempted to show you mean a _great_ deal to _me_. You've got to understand that I haven't let anyone in in a very long time…I'm rusty. Keeping people alienated has become a lifestyle, such a habit for me that it's as easy as breathing." His fingers twirled and tangled in her hair like he'd been longing to, "You're the first and only person since that I've wanted to change myself for. When I saw you kiss Gavin that night—"

She stiffened, "You saw that…?"

He nodded, "—It was irrational of me to be but I was hurt. Deeply. I'm not used to that, I didn't know how to react so I—well you know. I turned into an idiot." Her amused smile encouraged him to keep going. "_Honestly_, for the past year and a half, Ari, I've been slowly falling for you without my own knowledge. You said I wouldn't believe in all that stuff until I woke up one day and it already happened to me and…"

Ariadne's breath hitched, "So you—"

Arthur softened as much as he was capable and cupped her chin, "Very much so. Ariadne…Ariadne, you're so stunning and incredible and brilliant and I'm so sorry I've haven't bore those thoughts well enough to you."

"I take back what I said about finding a cliff…" grimaced the girl and Arthur chuckled. His forehead dipped, his composure going with it again, "God…I'm terrified."

Small, graphite covered hands snaked over his, pushing the loneliness out of the spaces, "Of what?"

"Everything you make me feel and what it does to me. All I know in this moment is that if your lips aren't on mine than you're too far away."

Ariadne grinned devilishly and moved her hands to guide his head back to hers, "Well kiss me again then."

After two or three light kisses, he sighed. "You know this drastically changes things between us, right?"

"Us." Her head tilted, "Is there an 'us'?" The Architect's hand fell to her pocket to feel for her totem. This occurrence was too unbelievable to be real.

"I want there to be." The weight was familiar and mind boggling…his forbidden lips on her ear were unfamiliar and yet comforting. She had to joke to keep a hold on her senses, "What about not wanting to ruin our friendship?"

Arthur had transformed in front of her eyes. This was a different man…like their kiss had altered him. He ran his mouth along hers in silent request for another reunion of lips before whispering into her, "I'd ruin anything for you, right now."

CLANK. The warehouse door scraped the floor as it opened and the two bolted apart. Ariadne jumped down from her seat on the desk to stand and pretend to look over work and Arthur turned to look at the whiteboard. "Still here?" It was the Chemist, "I forgot my wallet…" he explained and held it up for proof with a wink.

"Finishing up!" Ariadne called back with a smile.

Long after the second sound of the door, the Point Man turned back to Ariadne to find her head in her hands leaning on her desk. She groaned, "Ugh…what am I going to do about Gavin?"

He felt his full heart lose some air, "I can give you time to sort your feelings out. Let you decide who you'd rather—"

"Arthur," She gave him a judgmental look first, then grabbed his hands and wrapped them around her waist second. "That's _not_ the question." Her arms flew up around his neck again (it was like they were made to be there) with a sly simper, "I just don't know how to break it to the jerk that I've only been into him because I thought I couldn't have you…"

The Point Man's grin matched hers, "Allow me to bear the news."  
xxxxxxx

_I wanna make you laugh, scratch your back  
I wanna hold up your arms and make you feel like that.  
I wanna rock your boat, baby I wanna let you know that  
Something's Come Over Me— Ernie Halter_

All I'm saying is…you guys. They kissed not once, not twice but like a freakin million times. So I seriously hope this was worth the wait for you! Now that they're sort of together-ish…we get to see them go from just dating to looooooooovers =) ooh lala. These next few chapters are going to be SO FUN. Please review if you're excited about seeing them fall further…and if you enjoyed this angst-fest that resulted in end-of-chappie-fluff.


	17. Addicted to Love

Yay! I'm ecstatic the response to A/A finally getting together was, well, ECSTATIC! There are sure to be more bumps…(which I love angst, so yay) but for a few chapters we get to have a super marathon of fluff and passion and gooey-goodness. If there's anything specific you'd like to see happen, lemme know and I might could work it in, if I don't already have a plan for it. And Eames lovers, you guys get a little treat this chapter!

_Lauraa-x: _I cringed for him too. And you're right he's no good at voicing his feelings but now that things are knowledgably mutual…maybe he'll get better at that. After all, Arthur's a traditional, open the door, buy roses, wine and dine type of man…=) Once he gets used to it, holy cow. Yes, Arthur's SO SMUG when it comes to Gavin now. _Guest: _Massive smile? Yes! I did my job! Lol. Incredible cute times are on the way. _numbah435spiritsong: _thank you! I love tension. _lilachiccups: _multiple readings? Woot, that makes me very happy. Glad you liked it. _wilddarkhaunt: _Ahaha you win the award for my favorite review this chapter. The play by play description of your reactions was priceless. Thank you for the cake! _Amelia-Rose: _Happy to have made it up to you! ARI/ART KISSES FOR DAYS NOW! Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! _kamarooka: _Thank you for joining the With You party! I'm so so so so happy you're loving this. Please keep chiming in with your thoughts.

Kamarooka, here's some pie for following the story!  
And ice cream for _ashnightz_! For favoriting me and the story. Honored!

**Chapter 17: Addicted to Love.**

When the Point Man woke at 6:47 the next morning, it may have been dark blue outside but his sun was shining. And perhaps the only sounds coming from the streets outside his window were the honks of early morning cabs and the industrial hum of tour buses but he heard chirping birds. The fact that he woke thirteen minutes earlier than usual was peculiar considering he'd not fallen asleep until three am…and that was due to a long session of replaying the night's events over and over and rolling his dice across every flat surface. He recalled the misery the morning brought him the day before—when the Architect's affections seemed completely out of reach. When she was further into Gavin's arms than ever and his friendship with her slowly but surely eroding. Then smugly compared it to this morning— which brought him eagerness and excitement over the discoveries waiting for their first day "together."

He showered quickly, self-contentedly singing some Frank Sinatra tune. He practically glided into his black three piece, white button up and hunter green striped tie and buffed off his best designer loafers. A quick look at his watch showed 7:16 am, just enough time to hit a bakery before work. Hastily but carefully, his jet black tresses were gelled back, his dark silver watch clasped around his wrist and his necessities (like wallet, pocket squares and cellular) were dropped into his pocket. The mirror by the door was graced with a wink before he strolled out.  
xxxxxxx

8:10. Ariadne woke at 8:04 and that was after hitting the snooze button on six different alarms. You'd think she would've been able to pop right up at 7:30, bright eyed and bushy-tailed, and dance around the room getting ready. After all, she practically melted into her bed and passed out in a boneless, blissful unconsciousness (smile wide on her face as she went) as soon as Arthur dropped her off. Unfortunately her biological clock didn't care how early she got to bed, it still didn't want to get out of it.

Ariadne threw her hair up in a ponytail after brushing her teeth and paced out into the bedroom. The tv was blaring morning news and weather forecasts and she was bent over the dresser in black jeans and blue bra pilfering for a shirt. She chose a loose-knit blue sweater shirt and denim vest which Ariadne had just slipped over her head and through her arms when there was a knock on her door. The Architect rushed to open her closet, grab her black and blue dotted infinity scarf to drop around her neck, slung her bag on and opened the door, sticking her feet in her shoes in the process. "I wasn't going to be late today, I swear." Arthur stood smirking, checking his watch with one hand and holding a large white box with the other. As his eyes cut to his wrist, she pointed out, "I technically still have ten minutes."

"I'll excuse you," the man stepped aside to let her out into the hallway with him. He thought a mutual understanding of feelings would make his symptoms lessen instead of making them worse. They merely shared a ten foot wide hallway and his stomach was fluttering.

After checking for her room key and shutting the door, the girl twisted to come face to face with the box, "Um…" Ariadne studied it.

"Pip has to wait a while for hers but," he flipped the top open to reveal a dozen pastries, "I believe I owe you donuts." She laughed out loud before elbowing him and leading the both of them into the elevator.

They ate two each on the way to the warehouse. Stuffed, they figured they could share the leftovers with the team. The lot of them were garbage disposals. The Architect grabbed the handle of the door as they pulled to the curb but Arthur stopped her, "Wait." She froze nervously. What was wrong? "Before we go in…" a smile crept on his face as he took his seatbelt off and leaned in, "You have some chocolate on the corner of your mouth." His wet kiss cleaned it off but he wanted more. He wasn't sure whether it was the chocolate glaze, the minty toothpaste or her nature that tasted so damn delicious. It was understood that as soon as they went inside all boyfriend/girlfriend guise had to be gone. He needed a little kissing to get him through the day. Arthur repositioned his lips and greedily leant in, however, Ariadne bit her lip away from him and moved back.

The sun visor that doubled as a mirror was pulled down for her to inspect her face. Not that she cared about it. Ariadne was in the mood for teasing. "All gone," with a shrug and exceptionally kittenish expression she left him high and dry in the driver's seat while she collected her things and escaped. "No more chocolate, no more kissing." Was it evil to enjoy his disappointment when she denied him affection? It was just interesting because before he would've never pursued it and all of a sudden, today, he would. She heard him fiddle with the box, shut his car door and jog up behind her.

"Ari." The Architect turned with a cocky grin. It wouldn't have been so cocky had she foreseen Arthur shoving a donut into her face. Her cheeks, her nose, her mouth and her chin were then covered in chocolate. "Oops. You turned right into it."

Gaping, the woman gasped, "I'm going to hurt you." Too bad her threat held no meaning if she was grinning as he attacked her face. It felt natural, his hand on the back of her waist, his smile against her skin, the two of them laughing and nearly dumping the rest of the pastries on top of themselves. Even out in the open, on display, in front of the warehouse doors. Where had the no-nonsense Point Man gone? The faint sound of a motorcycle zooming down the street made Ariadne stiffen and push Arthur away lightly by the chest. There was no denying who was on their way. Arthur seemed to let the seriousness in as well. "Not ready for him to find out?"

Ariadne grimaced, "Not by driving up and seeing us like this."

"I don't know. It works for me…"joked the Point prior to proffering his handkerchief for her to wipe what remained of the evidence away. Luckily, they stepped inside just as the Chemist pulled up.  
xxxxxxx

Ariadne's moment of truth came shortly after their morning production meeting when Gavin strutted over to ask about her no-doubt awkward night of work with the Point Man. His first sign should've been her uncomfortable laugh and the removal of his hand from her hip but he didn't catch on. His second sign should've been her finding an excuse to duck away when he went in for a kiss. The Chemist was no stranger to her efforts to be modest in front of the team so all it did was encourage him to pursue her like always. When he suggested sneaking away for an early dinner and making out that night, Ariadne decided it was probably time to clarify. She asked him to follow her outside. And suspecting he was about to get some action, of course he was right on her tail. Arthur caught her eye as she skid past him and silently asked if she needed back up. Her reply was a shake of her head and a deep breath before she disappeared out the door.

"Come here, Princess," the man tugged at her wrist, expecting her to tilt her chin up an engage in some PDA but she squinted and held her ground.

"Gavin…remember what I said on my birthday?" her arm swung gawkily in the space between them because he refused to let it go. One of his eyebrows rose confusedly—which was fair. A lot had been said that night after they got a little hands-y backstage. So the Architect clarified, "About you and me not really being anything exclusive? Just having fun, being crazy? Having a feel-good fling and nothing much else?"

"Yeah," he grinned.

Gently, she extricated her arm from him and smiled a bit uncomfortably, "That's kind of over now."

Being the king of self-absorption, "What?" Gavin was speechless from the shock of rejection. His head was shaking in disbelief, his mouth agape; he kept looking down at himself wondering what about him she could possibly turn down. "That doesn't make sense."

"I'm saying that what we've been doing…I don't…want to do it anymore." Ariadne had never broken off with someone before; it was more stressful than she anticipated. Especially since she didn't exactly dislike Gavin, they had a lot of laughs and enjoyable outings together. Their short liaison was an exploration, one she probably would've continued awhile if not for Arthur's revelation. But it came time to pick and there wasn't any question on who she'd rather spend her time with…so this was necessary.

She thought he might just confusedly wander back into the warehouse and question the universe because of his dismissal but out of nowhere, he gave her an annoyed and judgmental look, "Does that asshole Point Man have something to do with this?"

What was she going to do? Lie? No. She fiddled with the ends of her scarf and fixated her gaze on the bench across the street. It did its best to encourage her. "Yes…we came to an understanding last night."

The Chemist was getting defensive, "He bully you out of seeing me?" His arms folded abruptly across his chest. His voice got deeper and filled with irritation.

"No." Ariadne's lip went white between her teeth. "We're…um…" She cut her eyes up to Gavin, almost blushing, and rubbing the back of her neck. It was so uncomfortable. She thought it'd be a piece of cake to say: 'Hey Gav, its been real fun but the man I've had a thing for for two years confessed he felt the same last night so sorry bud but we're done.' It was proving not to be. Especially with Gavin's chin jutting forward in expectation. "_What?_ You're what?" His patience was quickly fleeting while he waited for an answer and she waited for the words in her head to unscramble. In fact, the words were making so much noise trying to find their order that she didn't hear the warehouse door scrape open. She didn't hear much of anything until:

"We're together." Arthur's familiar voice behind her made her feel less small compared to the Italian. Like their masses combined to give her more courage. It also helped to feel him subtly grip the back of her shirt, letting her know he wouldn't let Gavin make a scene.

Gavin was too astounded to make one though. He could only sputter around and try to save his crumbling ego, "Woah, _together? _As in—"

The grip on her shirt tightened, "—we have mutual romantic feelings and have decided to act on them." To Ariadne's credit she tried not to beam in front of Gavin. She couldn't speak for Arthur, she was sure he was either giving Gavin a shit-eating grin or the 'don't try me' glare behind her.

The man in front of her scrunched his face and looked at Ariadne incredulously, "Are you kidding me? This guy?" He jabbed his finger towards Arthur without looking away from her, "Ariadne, _this _guy?" Gavin scoffed. Smoothed out his shirt and chided, "You know, I could have any woman I want. And I wasted a shit-ton of time paying attention to you. So you're welcome."

Her feeling sorry for him quickly rushed down the drain. Shrugging, she plastered on a curt smile, "Sorry."

The Architect's back collided into Arthur's front as Gavin shoved past them with a snarl (Ariadne could feel Arthur tense, upset because she'd been pushed.) "If _that _is the kind of man you want…fine." The warehouse door swung open, "Screw you." And before stomping away, the Chemist poked his head back out and stuck it a hair's breadth from her bemused face, "You never put out anyway."

Ariadne rolled her eyes. Thank goodness that chapter of her life was closed—filed under bad judgment and experience with jerks. On the whole, though, she reckoned it went well. She even twisted around and joked with the Point, "He was always the charmer…" Arthur wasn't laughing. He was scowling at the closed metal door. "I don't like the way he talked to you. Or that he pushed you."

The woman shook her head at him and eased his rustled nerves by smoothing out his lapels, "It's fine."

"If he tries to retali—"

"He won't. He'll sulk for the day and get over me with a one night stand tonight." Arthur nodded and relaxed for her. Took her word and softened into a small smile. She continued, sort of getting on to him and sort of reassuring him, "You know, I could've handled it without you."

"I know," admitted the Point, "I just wanted to see his face."

xxxxxxx

Now Gavin wouldn't say anything because he wouldn't want his failure to shag the Architect out in the open. He'd treat it like he lost interest in her quickly and Arthur was the rebound. And you couldn't take the Point Man completely out of Arthur…he would be careful to keep their relationship at bay while in the presence of coworkers. Dedicated to her craft, Ariadne would as well. Or they'd really try.

Eames knew something was up when Arthur offered him donuts for breakfast with a bloody smile as wide as the Nile river. It was one thing for the bugger to smile, it was another thing for him to let one slip at their pretty little Parisian friend, it was another ballpark entirely for him to smile at Eames of all people. So for there to be such a contrast to Arthur's soulful, lovelorn gloom since their night at the club, two things had to have happened. One: Arthur had been in an accident that resulted in severe brain damage and loss of memory. Or two: The not-official-but-should-be-lovers-quarrel had seen a bit of a makeup.

If the two thought they could keep a meaty secret like forbidden office love from the Englishman they were sorely mistaken. And frankly stupid for underestimating him—I mean how long had they all known each other? Eames and Arthur especially. Eames had the easiest job of the entire team in terms of preparation. Half the time, he had nothing else to do but entertain himself with the soap opera that had become his place of work. He was in tune to all of their dramatics. Even the extractor's (the wanker had kept in contact with that young lady at the club even though—surprise! Eames found out he was married. They were having trouble though. His wife—Willa or Lilla he could never make out—knew about dreamshare and was trying to pull him out of the work by what the Forger was beginning to expect was a fake pregnancy...that theory could also be due to his recent marathon catch up of Nashville). Anyways. Nothing skipped passed Eames without him catching a whiff. He observed the GAVIADTHUR love triangle (as he called them) acutely close that morning. How Tiny had shied away from Gavin's ministrations and reluctantly pulled him outside. How minutes later Artie finally made his legs go where his eyes were glued and joined them. Of course, in that small increment of time, Eames had twiddled his thumbs and looked up world news on his phone. And then aha! The Italian man stamped back in, his feathers ruffled up. And shortly after bounded in the other two. Feathers all neatly tucked in place. Secretive cheerfulness in the air around them.

Those cheeky bastards…

The Forger's radar fired off deafening sirens in waves throughout the day. The Architect and Point Man were peculiarly connected constantly. Not like that, darling. That thought gave him the creeps. It wasn't physical, in fact they kept more geographical distance from each other than ever. It was this daft, telepathic type thing. Like they would meet eyes and know exactly what the other was thinking. Like they had walkie talkies for each other in their heads. It was very strange. Eames did his best to decode in the notepad Arthur instructed he use for 'relevant subject matter'. Sometimes they'd lock eyes and all there was was a sickeningly sweet smile. Sometimes one would laugh or the other would roll their eyes. Once Ariadne picked up a laser pointer and by God—what on earth was so amusing about that?! The couple thing was gross already and he wasn't even sure if they were one yet. Did he really root for this? After some time, the Forger got bored with their gleeful unicorn and rainbows attitude and did some real work.

Until things picked up and the female star of this show ventured over to the Point Man's area for the first time that day. After a very long critique session with Victor, might he add. Eames snuck a peek over towards the Chemist's worktable just to gauge reaction and he was hilariously boiling as hot as his solutions. Forgive the Forger for letting a snicker slip. As casually inconspicuous and debonair as ever, Mr. Eames rose from his chair and decided to ponder their three level plan of action on the whiteboard. Conveniently located within hearing distance. Ariadne had already hopped up and posed herself on the corner of Arthur's desk and addressed him accusingly, "Hey, Point Man," by the time Eames made it to his station. Luckily, he hadn't missed any real conversation. She continued, "Your googly eyes are distracting me from work."

He stared at the words 'LEVEL 1—ARIADNE—OFFICE BUILDING' written in anally careful handwriting but heard the words, "My apologies but I think that's fair. Considering your _everything_ is distracting me." Ew. Listening to Ariadne and Arthur flirt was like watching an 80's American gore film. So disgusting and yet so unbelievably addicting and diverting. He wanted to throw up but he also wanted to hear more because it was that cheesily enthralling.

Ariadne let out a tiny chuckle but warned, "Well something's gotta give. And I can't necessarily turn all this awesome off, so—"

"—So I'll work on not being so mesmerized by you." What kind of a tone was that? All honeyed and low? Ew. The robot was attempting to be flirty. The world must be ending…God save the Queen. The Forger took a second to stretch and run his fingers through his hair to have an excuse to look behind him.

He found them doing that cute thing again. That gooey, starry-eyed, close-lipped gaze-y thing. Ariadne bent down closer, telling him he was so full of it but she liked it with nothing but her eyes. And Arthur smirked up at her. Doing his utmost to make sure his pinky running along hers was unseen to any possible witnesses. The pixie hopped right back off the desk and went merrily on her way, neither of them adding to the three sentence exchange. Just leaving the Point Man, favorably and idly staring at his computer screen.

Those cheeky bastards…

When Arthur's head shot to Eames' direction, the Englishman was quick on his feet, smoothly grabbing a dry erase marker and clearing his throat; Shooting the bugger an innocent grin while drawing a small heart doodle by the Architect's name.

xxxxxxx

Victor decided the first level would be too tricky—mainly taking into consideration that Ariadne would be running interference by herself until the others kicked back up to her—contained in one office building. That showed no mistrust in her designs but for her first time, they agreed it might be smarter to come up with an entire city area and make the office her central maze and hideout. That resulted in the woman passed out on a lawn chair with one leg hanging half off, pencil dangling between her fingers, and a half re-sketched dreamscape in her lap at 2:24 am. Arthur covered her up with his suit jacket within minutes of her initial drift-off. But at this point, she'd been asleep almost forty-five minutes with no promise of stirring awake to finish her task anytime soon and he was certain she'd most likely spend the night in that exact spot if he didn't take action and move her.

Ariadne wasn't aware of anything at all until all of a sudden she was. Her cheek was pressed against something crisp but soft, something that smelt a lot like peppermint and cologne. Something she didn't mind nuzzling her nose against. A firm arm encircled her back and another under her knees and then she was floating through the air with occasional bumps. A familiar scrape sounded and all at once her feet were cold and a chilly breeze blew across her face. The rest of her was fine though…when she moved her arms instinctively, she hazily realized her upper body was wrapped in a thick, suit-y material. Two muddled beeps preceded her body being placed somewhere stationary again. Her back was cold now, something hard and solid and cool had replaced all the gentle, soothing, warmth. All of this would've been forgotten for the wonderful fuzziness of sleep if the car door closing hadn't jarred her awake.

The Architect blinked herself back into total consciousness (also curling up purposefully in Arthur's jacket to regulate her body temperature) while looking mindlessly out the window. Eames was standing on the steps of their building calling out something sassy and mischievous as always. It was most likely a continuation of a discussion had while she was conked out because it sounded like nonsense to her, his faraway: "I'm probably happier about this than you are, mate. I've always shipped you two."

Arthur's whereabouts were confirmed when his subdued (because of the windows) cadence came from the other side of the car. He was standing just outside the driver's door with her bag off his shoulder and her sketchbook in hand, asking over the hood of the car. "What does that even mean?"

"It means bloody congratulations!" Even half asleep, Ariadne was coherent enough to giggle at Eames' sorry excuse for a jig. The Point Man got louder when the door opposite of hers opened, "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

Seeing her awake, Arthur smiled at her and lightly leaned across to place her items in the floorboard at her feet. He started up the car and completely ignored Eames' insistent shouting, "I see everything you two! Don't think I'm oblivious to your adorable shenanigans!"

"I'm pretty sure I fell asleep on a lawn chair…" she brought up as the car pulled off onto the road.

"You did. I didn't think you were going to budge. Thought you might want your own bed." He explained and turned down the radio's volume. It wasn't up high but having just been asleep and more than likely ready to delve back into it, he was certain she'd appreciate a quiet ride. At the red light he braved to ask (why he was nervous after their obvious flirtations all day, he'd never understand), "I'd like to treat you to a nice, sit-down breakfast in the morning. Would you be up for it?"

For her own humor more than for his, Ariadne frowned theatrically, "That would require me getting up early, wouldn't it?"

Arthur was quick to assure her there was no pressure to join him. He didn't want to force her into spending more time with him than she wanted. He just got her; he didn't want to push her away. Maybe that was why his nerves had kicked in. All of it would work out. He just needed to let her set the pace. To go as slow as she felt like. "We don't have to. I know you're not a really a morning person."

Her legs folded under her in the seat. He took note and turned up the heater and seat warmer for her. "No, I want to. We're getting down to the wire so we won't have a lot of opportunity to do that type of stuff. Just give me a wake-up call. Or ten."

xxxxxxx

Call he did. At 7:10 am. His sprite and chipper, "Still want to have breakfast with me?" was met with a grumbled, "Give me twenty minutes." He either didn't hear the groaning or chose to overlook it because he pleasurably exclaimed he'd be waiting in the lobby.

Arthur had to stifle his delight when he caught sight of her dragging her feet through the expensively decorated, marble tiled, grandeur hotel lobby in her signature Queen of Comfort, gives no shits, Ariadne style. Passing businessmen dressed like himself and socialite women in an outfit he guessed she slept in. It was no put off for Arthur—after all, he esteemed everything about her. The quirks that made her wholly unique and unmatched. The Architect squinted at him when she met him at the door. Apparently the sunlight outside still proved too bright for her. She must've gone back to sleep for fifteen minutes of her twenty and used the other five to ride the elevator. Her tiredness was inexplicably adorable. He had to rib her, "Well, good morning, sunshine."

"Shut up, Point Man," deadpanned the girl. "I absolutely hate the morning."

Holding the door open, he gave her another chance to decline his offer, "It won't hurt my feelings if you don't want to come. Do you want to go back to sleep?" Other patrons took advantage of his nicety and passed in and out of the door while he waited for the girl's decision.

"Yes," Ariadne confessed. Instead of fixing him with a remorseful expression, however, she grabbed his sleeve and dragged him out the door to the valet area. "Unfortunately, I want to spend time with you more."

xxxxxxx

Ariadne's head leaned on his arm while they stood in line at their usual place. Judging from the rhythm of her breathing, the Point would've sworn she'd fallen back asleep standing up. He was beginning to feel bad for suggesting this. Maybe when he got some food in her, she'd feel less miserable and he'd feel less guilty for prying her out of bed two hours before her nature was ready. He discovered she wasn't asleep when they reached the front of the line and she perked up to look at the menu. Like clockwork, Arthur pulled out his billfold, dropped a tip in the jar, pocketed a purple tulip and prepared to order. First, he regarded his girl. "You pick us out a nice spot; I'll order. You want your usual?"

Side to side, she tilted her head. "I'm sort of in the mood for strawberry crepes today, if that's ok?"

Arthur was already cognizant of his inability to deny her anything. Not even two full days in and he'd accepted it. With those exceptionally drowsy, dulcet brown eyes blinking up at him? Lord help him if she ever asked for the universe because he'd probably beg, cheat, lie and steal to figure out a way to offer it on a silver platter. Reflexively, he liquefied and tucked a strand of her yet-to-be-brushed hair behind her ear, "Whatever you want." The moment was interrupted by the cashier calling him up to the counter.  
xxxxxxx

"Are the crepes good?" questioned the Point, stirring his cup of coffee. He'd made sure to pay the extra fee for powdered sugar and syrup and then made _more_ sure she didn't know there was an extra fee for it. She hated when he spent anything on her and not only was he buying her breakfast but he was doting.

Ariadne hummed. One of her hands used a sticky fork to cut the pastry up and the other twirled the short stemmed flower he always procured for her here. "Amazing." Following a sip of latte, the Parisian presented, "Want a bite?"

Arthur eyed her plate. His scrambled eggs, sausage links and muffin were quite enjoyable but her plate looked so festive. All the sweet strawberry sauce beckoned to his sweet tooth and he had to concede, despite his manners telling him not to, "I would actually."

Here, she did something he didn't expect. The Architect stabbed two bite sized pieces onto her utensil, dragged it through the syrup and then held it up to his mouth as if she was going to feed it to him, "Here." He found himself gawping at the foodstuff, some of the sauce dripping onto the tablecloth the longer he hesitated. The longer he studied the bits of strawberry and over-analyzed her motion. She laughed at him, "You know, you probably catch more germs kissing me than you would sharing my fork."

"It's not that," he fumbled. What was it then? It was the distancing shell of his (that she'd recently broken down) trying to scab over and build back up. It was part of the old Arthur whispering that this was a gesticulation wildly intimate. That this was a step further in the wrong direction. A direction he shouldn't be in in the first place. "It just seems like a profoundly personal gesture."

"You could take the fork yourself. Or I could make some airplane noises to make it seem less _profound_. " The Point could tell some part of her found it comical. He could also tell some part of her felt offended. Arthur decided over a month ago that the old Arthur isn't who he was going to be with her. He'd made leaps and bounds to get to this point. This point of openness and fondness. Of affection. He wasn't about to let his shortcomings and bad habit of estranging people soil their budding romance. Arthur gently took her wrist and helped her guide the fork into his mouth, making a noise of satisfaction as he tasted.

"Delicious, right?"

Arthur swallowed. Nodded. Let the goodness run down his throat. Then left a sticky kiss on her cheek, "Mm, almost as sweet as you." He then felt it polite to return the favor, "Want a bite of mine?"

Another forkful of pastry occupied her mouth so Ariadne simply shook her head. This wasn't going as Arthur planned. Their conversation was limited to speaking about their meal, Victor's changes on her level and an occasional joke. The Architect mostly people-watched and ate quietly. It was because Arthur wasn't interesting…that must've been why she dealt with Gavin for so long. Because at least he made life a constant party. The Point Man had an inkling that this breakfast date was letting her down so he increased his efforts to find of topic of mutual concern. "How are your parents? Have you talked to them lately?"

"Mhm," The girl was dawdling, dragging her pieces of crepe around the plate. Wanting to make the last of it last. "About a week ago. Dad's still in rehab but doing ok. And the retirement's coming in. So, they're less stressed over money." Her fork dropped and she eagerly picked up her latte. It had cooled sufficiently by that point.

"Good. They know you're in Rome?" Arthur on the other hand placed his mug back down so he could scoot his chair in and let a group of American tourists squeeze between their and another table.

Ariadne shrugged, "Somewhere in Italy. I said my firm outsourced me to another branch for a few months for experience." She snickered, "Aunt Helena and Natalie are jealous." And then sat up straighter, remembering something sharply, "Oh. I told mom we were working together again. She says hi."

It was small but it made him feel better. The fact that her family remembered him, that her mom said hi. It reassured him that they were close, they'd been through a lot together. That he was out having breakfast with his remarkable and beautiful best friend turned something more and not some random blind date he had to walk on eggshells around to impress. "Return the hello for me next time you talk." The Architect smiled in compliance but then they went back to silence. What was this? Arthur was doing all the work here. Bringing up subjects, guiding conversation, asking questions to keep them engaged…then again….what would Ariadne ask him? What would she say? She didn't know much about him. Arthur kept to himself and Ariadne merely obliged and patiently waited for him to set the boundaries on what was comfortable to talk about.

"My favorite color is hunter green." It might take months, years, decades for Arthur to share everything. He'd have to work up to the big stuff, the facts about himself that he kept close to his heart. But he could start with trivial details. Little specifics or preferences that would even them out in terms of knowledge of the other. Ariadne looked lost. "Okay?"

"Lamb is my favorite delicacy. I'm allergic to shellfish. My favorite childhood book was Count of Monte Cristo. I took theatre for two years due to my mother's incessant begging but quit after having the horrible misfortune of playing Peter in Peter Pan—"

Ariadne held up her hand, curious of course but more bewildered than anything, "Wait. I'm sorry, what are we doing?"

"I'm telling you things about me." Sighing, he leant back in his chair, "All you know is my Point Man persona. You must feel like you're on a date with a complete stranger. And evidently—from the lack of talking— I'm boring you to tears."

"No, no," the Architect was quick in correcting, "I'm just tired."

His frustration was mounting, "I suck at this."

"You're trying." Then it was gone. Because her soft, forgiving hand tugged at his ear playfully and then caressed down his jawbone. "I can tell you're trying. I know letting me further in is going to take time."

Perfect. She was perfect. And understanding and tolerant and patient and supportive and…"You're incredible. You know that?"

"Are you done eating?" She rolled off the compliment and stood with her plate, going to grab his too. "I'll do the dishes. And when I get back…you can describe your Peter Pan costume to me." With a smirk, she nudged his head with her forearm and took their plates to the drop off spot at the front counter.

xxxxxxx

That day was full to the brim of secret glances and excuses for them to brush past one another even though Ariadne was bogged down with the reimagining of her level. As soon as their morning meeting ended, she plunged into sketching and modeling and hadn't taken a break since. She skipped lunch. The food Arthur brought her back went too cold to be any good and sat sadly on the table. Abandoned. Rubbing the corners of her eyes, she heaved a sigh and a gulp of coffee and resumed shaving the side of one of the mazes to cut out and switch with another. It wasn't too taxing of a task but it wasn't easy and it took more brainpower than she currently possessed. She kept pumping herself with caffeine and granola chips to stay wired and busy.

Even Eames couldn't tempt her with a cupcake from down the road. Ariadne was on a deadline and killing herself to meet it. It didn't help that Arthur had made her get up way too early that morning. "Take a break." Arthur materialized at her side and moved the glue as she reached for it, "You're running yourself ragged."

Proudly (from outsmarting him), she opened one of her plastic drawers and pulled out another bottle of glue. "I'm fine, Point Man." Around her shoulder he reached and extricated it from her grasp while she was squeezing it. She swatted at him but he still rested his hand on her elbow, "Ari, please, take a break and eat something." Her eyes slid to the box of bars, a handful of tootsie rolls from Eames, and a half drunk Gatorade (the garbage was filled with Styrofoam coffee cups too). Her mouth opened to comment because, hey, that was _something_. Arthur was quick to intervene, "Something substantial." Ariadne could still chop off that third hallway and make it a dead-end without glue…somehow she forgot what she was doing when she picked up the carver as soon as his hands pressed on the desk on either side of her and his head dipped beside her cheek. To the other members it looked as innocent as him looking at the plans over her shoulder but the closeness wasn't overlooked by the two of them.

"Could I convince you to step away if I asked you on a dinner date?"

"A date?" The Architect looked at him. They were close enough to kiss if one of them jutted forwards an inch but alas they were in a warehouse full of co-workers so they had to refrain. Ariadne funnily yet skeptically looked down at herself and then shot him a 'you've got to be kidding me' face. The Architect hadn't gone back to the hotel and changed into everyday clothes since that morning. And that morning—since the Point Man ate so damn early—she basically rolled out of bed and greeted the waking world with what she slept in. So, at that moment, she stood before Arthur in a loose white v-neck that looked like a teenage boy's but wasn't (don't worry she made herself put on a bra under it) half tucked into navy blue and purple harem pants, black combat boots and a bandana in lieu of a scarf. Her curls were unruly as a result of being pushed back behind her ear and pulled up into a ponytail and taken down and twisted up into a bun and taken down again and being outright abused without a comb once running through them. "You want me to look like _this_ on our first official dinner date?"

"You looked like that on our first official _breakfast_ date." He pointed out. Smiling and itching to wrap his hands around her waist (but not and believe that for the life of him it was very difficult not to). Arthur assured, "I don't care what you wear_. _You could be dressed in a giant pretzel costume and I would be proud to have you on my arm."

Ariadne turned around all the way to talk face to face instead of half twisted over her shoulder at him, "You say that now but when you show up at my door with flowers to take me somewhere nice and I'm in that pretzel costume—" here, she poked his chest with her index finger and coy expression, "don't tempt me with things like that—I'm sure you'd ask me to change."

Eames walked by on his way to the bathroom (he'd been three times in the past twenty minutes. Maybe _he _thought he was sneaky as James Bond but Arthur could smell nosiness from a mile away) and waggled his eyebrows at their position. They begrudgingly moved to stand side by side. The Point Man waited until he was sure the Forger was out of hearing distance (and that the restroom door closed all the way because he wouldn't put it past the Brit to crack the door and listen in. He'd already recorded an earlier conversation of theirs and made it his ringtone). "Let me take you out of here so I can kiss you like I've waited to do all day." Ariadne smirked. He added, "And for your health of course."

"Not even two days into our relationship and you're this clingy?" provoked the girl. The part of her that enjoyed joshing him died when his index finger ran up hers discreetly. The thrill of his touch basically killed every doubtful thought. "Fine." She gave in. But she looked back at her model, worried, "But didn't you tell us all that the deadline for the last revised versions of everything are due by ten tonight?"

"I'll extend it for you. You have til morning."

Ariadne poked his shoulder (she liked poking him, didn't she) "That's favoritism."

"You're undoubtedly my favorite. Why not treat you special?"

"And now you've learned the word favoritism." Ariadne mocked and then glanced back at her work again and whined, "I'm almost done though…" Arthur sighed but resigned to accept her answer. He nodded understandingly. If anyone knew what it was like to have an episode of workaholism—it was him. The Architect looked at her watch. It was only 7:30…"I'll hurry. Pick me up in thirty minutes."

His eyes twinkled. But the woman warned, "And don't you dare honk from your swivel chair. Have the courtesy to come all the way to my desk and knock. Especially since I took the time to primp nicely for you."  
xxxxxxx

The Point Man took Ariadne back to Ditirambo since she'd commented it was her favorite place in Italy. He ordered the Ziti al Forno, she the gnocchi and they both got Caesar salads and wine. It wasn't entirely the merlot that made them giddy though it may have attributed to it. It was also the prospect of what lay ahead for them in the new territory. The satisfaction of at last seeing their separate infatuations come to fruition. They decided to walk down the street and find a gelato shop before heading back. As they walked, Ariadne licked at her cone and stared at him appreciatively. He felt her eyes rake him up and down and jested, "Are you checking me out, Architect?"

"I was admiring your walk." Purposely she directed their gazes down to his feet.

"Oh?" He puffed up and exaggerated his strides, "You enjoy my swag, do you?"

Ariadne fought back a flat out howl of laughter, "Please don't talk like that."

Following a bite of his waffle cone, "I ain't frontin'," he also waggled his eyebrows.

"Don't try to be hip, grandpa," It was actually cute but she shook her head pitifully.

"I don't have to try," his free hand smoothed his hair back melodramatically. It was otherworldly to see him act so carefree and light. Even more so than the few glimpses she had of him back home and at the Cobbs. Periodically, her hand would wander to her back jean pocket and touch the totem there. "I think Eames was right." A lone drip of mint chocolate ran down her cone and she raced to lap it up before it reached her hand. Then another large bite was taken. "There's too big of an age gap between us." The Point's shoulder was patted.

Arthur glared, slowly biting off the top of his second scoop. "I'm not _that _much older than you, Sweetheart."

Ariadne sped up to walk in front of him but backwards so she could josh, "Oh, I was implying that_ I_ was the older one." Comically, she stuck her tongue out before—oomph! She backed into one of the brick columns above a ristorante's awning. Arthur raised an eyebrow, "As the younger, more immature one…naturally I chose not to tell you about that." His ice cream was held out to the side so he could grin, "But only so I could trap you against it and kiss your smart-ass mouth." As the Point wanted, he bestowed a long and pleasant kiss. When he pulled away he non-chalantly brought his cone back to eat, gaining too much satisfaction from her childish and captivated beaming… He loved the effect his lips could have on her features.

"And as the older and wiser adult here, I will forgive you for that."

They started walking again and that's when Arthur's face twisted into the strangest shape she'd ever seen. His eyebrows arched, his mouth pressed down in the corners and he looked like a cartoon. "What kind of a face is that?" she couldn't help but snicker. It twisted into another, "Stop," he moved his head closer, "stop…"

"But it makes you laugh." he simpered and stole a mouthful of her mint chocolate which she swatted at him for. (Because she didn't play with her gelato, now. Dessert was serious!) "So does jaywalking in front of buses and freaking you out but you told me not to do that. Again."

Correcting her, "My strange faces won't cause your sudden death."

"Oh, they might…" she laughed again. The sound made him feel so jovial, he slipped his free hand into hers and automatically felt warm when she not only held his back but intertwined their fingers. The first time they'd held hands…and it was the solace he'd been looking for since before he could remember. That must've been what pure content felt like. That was what it felt like to hold everything you could ever want in the palm of your hand. "You know what's so sad about this?" Looking up expectantly at him, she was able to steal a vengeful bite of his white chocolate mousse before he looked back. He caught her but sharing desserts just put him in higher spirits. "Sad? Dating is sad?" He knew there was a punch line so it didn't alarm him.

"Two kids under the age of ten knew how we felt before we did. You realize that? That's pathetic." She chomped at her last bit of cone and it broke apart and all fell. Shamefully and gracelessly she tried to ninja-catch it with her free hand and mouth but failed and it crumbled on the ground. "Man."

Her pouted lower lip did uncanny things to him. Favorably upturning the corners of his mouth, Arthur held his cone in front of her to offer another taste of it, "I _knew_ I was crazy about you. I just fought it."

"What a douchebag…" she insulted him even as he continued to let her mooch on his ice cream. The things he put up with for her…He ended up just giving the rest of it to her to finish (since she was the one who wanted gelato anyway. The stuff was like gold to her. If they ever got serious and he decided to propose…he'd do it with gelato instead of a ring. Well…Arthur was traditional. There would be a ring but there would also definitely be gelato). Ariadne took it in both hands and hummed happily, "I didn't mean that. You're delightful."

The Point Man added thoughtfully, "You know, that's fractionally romantic."

"_You_? _Romantic_?" badgered the girl.

"I said fractionally." He defended then fixed her with a reverent look she was oblivious to. Anyone on the street would've believed she was more in love with the ice cream than she would ever be with him. He'd do anything for her to crave him like that. "I mean…I was scared of getting to know you because I knew right away." Arthur forced her to stop walking by encircling his arms around her waist and holding her back to his front. "I knew you would be the one for me." Arthur tilted his head forward, clearly expecting a kiss. Ariadne let him hold her and breathe onto her cheek all he wanted but she was too busy savoring his mousse. Lapping it up and licking it off her lips, "Mmm…this is the best."

"Excuse me, are you on a date with my ice cream or with me? I just said something incredibly dreamy. What has that cone ever said to you?" Rolling her eyes, Ariadne figured she would oblige and tilted her head back so could meet lips again. Sugary, sticky and brilliant. After deepening, her hand involuntarily tipped forward and the cone fell to the ground.

Ariadne pulled away from Arthur in panic and despair, "No! My gelato!"

"_My _gelato."

The Architect faked tears, "…You made me drop it on purpose! You were jealous of him!"

Arthur didn't exactly argue. He laced his hand with Ariadne's and pulled her along. All seemed better in her world when he promised, "I'll buy you another one…" Dazzling him with a smile, she started swinging their hands. The Point Man couldn't keep from elaborating, from making promises and exaggerated declarations, "I'll buy you the world."  
xxxxxx

As expected, neither wanted to say goodbye to their blissful evening as they stood in front of her room. But the team had a big day of preparation in the morning. They could be called in to perform the extraction any day now. The Architect grabbed his tie and clowned with him, "Hey…if I say please," it referenced back to their inside-joke about manners, "could you be all mine?"

"I'm afraid I already am," The Point murmured tenderly down at her. His hand propped him up against the wall over her head and he willingly allowed her to tug him to her level. He loved how he had to bend down and she had to go on her tip-toes to make a union with their lips. It was utterly enchanting…the taste of the three different flavors she's consumed, the smell of her green apple soap, the feel of her breath on his mouth, her tongue still cold and her eyelashes on his cheeks. That was another thing. It was tremendous that they could act like little kids annoying each other one moment and then like hot-blooded lovers the next with seamless transition. "Ari…"

"Hm?" She asked without breaking contact. Relishing his proximity.

"If you don't feel as strongly about me…" Arthur hadn't expected her to look at him peculiarly. Yet, he followed through, beseeching, "Pretend. Please. Just play the part."

The Architect's hands wonderfully snaked up his chest, incinerating his skin through the cotton of his shirt, "I don't have to pretend." The way she looked at him…it was better than the way she looked at her ice cream. It made him believe in wishes made at fountains and beauties and beasts and the possibility that nothing was impossible if she always looked at him just like that. If he was hers and she was his then Philippa's fairytales all had to be true. Without him noticing, she pulled his trusty laser pointer out of his pocket and flashed him with not only a thousand watt smile but a small red dot of light on his chest. "Goodnight Arthur." She'd never realize how easy of a target he was. That he'd already been shot down mid-flight before she could aim.

The man's hand covered over hers and took it back with a chuckle. A chuckle deficient in humor. A gaze overcome with a rosy tint, "Goodnight Ari."

Arthur's kiss on her forehead ended the night.

But it started the addiction.  
xxxxxxx

_Another kiss is all you need.  
You'd like to think that you're immune to this stuff, oh yeah.  
It's closer to the truth to say you can't get enough.  
You're gonna have to face it, You're addicted to love.  
–_Addicted to Love (cover) by Florence + the Machine.

All I can say is this was fun to write (especially Eames) and I can't wait to get to the even better stuff. What all are you guys excited to see in future chapters! Any specific firsts? Milestones? I have some things in mind but I love suggestions.

Also I'd say our story is about at the halfway point. About. Not quite.


	18. Turning Page

_Kamarooka: _yay smiles =) thank you! _Amelia-Rose: _Don't worry, more cuteness is fixing to be seeeerved. And noted. _Lauraa-x: _yes our Artie really has made leaps and bounds since chapter one eh? Most of the things you like to see are lined up to happen. Not all in this particular chappie but in the near future I promise. _Numbah435spiritsong: _Lol Eames is a hoot. Thanks for reviewing! _Guest: _thanks!

_Kamarooka _gets ice cream for favoriting and this story! And favoriting and following me! AhhhhHHHhh! Seriously thanks!

**ATTN: **this chapter is more vignette style than ones previous.

**Chapter 18: Turning Page**

You'd think a week later the bliss would've waned but it hadn't in the slightest. And Arthur savored the aggravated, envious looks Gavin shot him through the day. Ariadne was overly nice to him when they spoke because she felt guilty for admittedly leading him on but on the whole she kept awkward distance. She'd also been making it to work on time every day. More of Arthur's volition than her own because he drove her every morning. But he'd been considerate of her need for eighty hours of sleep. He picked up the habit of calling to make sure she was up, grabbing breakfast while she got ready and then having her morning meal waiting piping hot in the car. (And her purple tulip sitting on the dashboard.)

Ariadne skidded through the lobby doors and plopped into the passenger's side just before Arthur had to drive around the parking lot again. (They only let you wait so long in the valet pick-up area). "Good Morning!" she chirped, opening her doggie-bag and smelling the sinfully delicious contents.

Arthur pulled off to circle to the main road, "Must be. Your eyes are open all the way, you're not scowling and I only had to circle the parking lot twice."

The Architect bit into her croissant and glared at him with some obnoxious Italian pop song coming through the speakers and acting as a soundtrack. After a second on the road and a sip of latte, Ariadne irritatedly turned the station down. "I miss music I can understand."

"They play music from the states here too; find a station." Arthur suggested and took one hand off the wheel to flip for her. "Or plug in your phone. We can listen to whatever you want."

She groaned, "My phone's dead. I have to charge it at the warehouse."

"Dead already?" Arthur inquired, "It's 8:42 in the morning."

The woman broke off more of her croissant, "I took it off the charger when you called last night and forgot to put it back on," then shrugged and popped the bread into her mouth. "What do you have on your phone?" came from a mouth full of crumbs as she reached to where he kept his cell in the cup holder.

"I don't have music on it. I use it for work."

Her eyes squinted at him then the object in her hands, "Oh, you have a text from Vic." Helpfully, she held it up for him to easily type in his passcode at the red light and check. With furrowed eyebrows he eyed the main screen, "No I don't."

Quickly, the phone was snatched back with a devilish smile. "So trusting…" The smart-ass had tricked him into unlocking his phone so she could go through his music folder. And he couldn't do anything about it because by the time he reached to take it back, the light had turned green. Saved by the bell, that woman. "You do too have music on here!" Arthur cringed as she plugged it in and named off the different playlists, "Feel good playlist, classical for work, classical for sleep, Rat pack playlist? Of course you would. And—" Ariadne gasped. She had to have found it. Arthur felt his face heat up as she turned to him with the goofiest grin on her face, "You have an _Ariadne _playlist?"

He took a deep breath and tried to downplay it. "You gave some recommendations on your birthday and I downloaded them to a playlist with your name."

Ariadne seemed to mellow out with the explanation, nodding and scrolling through the list named after her. There were her favorite Lana Del Rey songs she remembered gushing about and some Arcade Fire, Yeah Yeah Yeahs and Feist she mentioned in passing. Bad Romance was justifiably added somewhere in there. But…there were a bunch she most definitely hadn't cited. And that's where her goofy grin spread back out on her face because this wasn't just a playlist of things she endorsed, these were also songs that reminded him of her. A Kiss to Build a Dream On by Louis Armstrong? You Make My Dreams by Daryl Hall and John Oates? How cute! And—"The Gap Band? Who are they?"

He thought he'd gotten away with it. That she took his word on it being a bunch of songs she acclaimed and skipped over to another folder. He got a little stiff and tried to blindly retrieve his device back, "Why don't we just talk on the way?" There was a litany of silly and sentimental tunes he added to it since they got together and she'd no doubt find it either creepy or stupid.

"Funk Essentials Vol. 1?" She continued to read off. Before Arthur could scrounge up a plan of action, her thumb had chosen the hit and the groovy sounds of the seventies filled the car up. The Point Man stared hard at the road. He may have avoided actually seeing her humor-filled eyes but he felt them.

_You were the girl that changed my world  
You were the girl for me  
You lit the fuse, I stand accused.  
You were the first for me  
But you turned me out—_

_You dropped a bomb on me, baby  
You dropped a bomb on me._

"No way…" Ariadne could see plainly that the driver was getting flustered. He had it coming, he said things to make _her _blush all the time. It was nothing to be embarrassed about. The fact that he compiled a folder of music that reminded him of her was charming. And adorable. And You Dropped a Bomb on Me was a classic she didn't mind attributed to herself. It was just hilarious to think that her stone-faced, serious attitude, Point Man actually listened and possibly danced to it. She rubbed her lips together, trying not to chortle at him because he felt uncomfortable enough.

"We can turn it off now," he gritted.

"No, I like it!" In truth, she did. She started dancing in her seat, turning it up louder despite his groaning when she did so, moving her shoulders and rolling her fists around each other. He eased up when her hand cupped his chin and tried to move his head up and down for him, "Come on, Arthur. I know you jam out to this when you're alone; you can do it with me." The man gave her a wary look so she assured him, "_You_ dropped a bomb on me _too_."

Arthur began bobbing his head to the beat, reluctantly at first but he loosened up once he realized she wasn't making fun of him. She was tickled pink that this song was more or less about her. So since it brought her so much purposeless happiness that she boogied like a maniac in her seat, he played along. And by the end of the car ride Arthur was belting the lyrics, jutting his head side to side and tapping the steering wheel.  
xxxxxxx

"Wonderful work, Ariadne." Victor complimented.

Her city scape was reminiscent of Chicago. Tall buildings on either side of a river, water and land taxis buzzing to and fro. The team walked the main path of her maze and took a detour into the building she'd be defending them in when the time came. It was forty floors tall with a continuous circular loop as the way to ascend. Paradoxes everywhere. Certain office rooms were trap doors or housed hidden elevators to skip through the maze and jump up or down a few floors. All balconies and the rooftop had parapets for easy hiding and cover from fire. Gavin nodded appreciatively, "Yeah. Good work, Princess."

"In such a short amount of time, too. I'm incredibly impressed." The Extractor continued to pace around and up her spiral flooring with a smirk, "We're too ready for this job."

Eames stepped off the path to one of balconies off the twenty-fifth floor's reception area to marvel at the cubby like area she created. "Brilliant. You can't be seen from the inside if they're tailing you, from the surrounding balconies or buildings and you can easily target hordes of them on the street. All you need is a supply of grenades and you can drop bombs on them al—"

"BAHAHAHA!" The Architect dissolved in laughter. The kind where her eyes squeezed shut and her tongue caught between her teeth. Arthur's favorite kind.

The Forger lifted his hands, "What? What did I say?"

"Bombs…" She doubled over. Victor and Gavin halted their observation and looked down at them peculiarly. He should've pinched her or something to make her stop but all Arthur could do was bite the inside of his cheek to keep from joining in her contagious guffawing. "Ari…"

"I'm sorry," she held up her hand to their audience and apologized. Victor waved it off with a chuckle of his own, resuming his self-guided tour. The Englishman on the other hand was worried about her mental health. "Seriously. I know I'm witty but what on earth about dropping bombs is so damn—?" Arthur shook his head at him while Ariadne hid her face in her hands and rested her forehead on his chest to attempt to quit. It seemed to do the trick and they finished the tour like adults.

Except when they woke and he slipped her lead out for her as always, he was singing under his breath, "_But you turn me on. You dropped a bomb on me, baby—" _Ariadne couldn't contain her explosive snort.

Two lawn chairs to their right, Eames bellowed, "My God, Ariadne…Get some sleep Darling. You're losing it."

xxxxxxx

The Point Man and Architect went out for a lunch date on their twelve-thirty break to a little place called Santino's. Just something with quick enough service that they could get back before getting into trouble even though they offered to bring everyone lunch back so they could take more time. They'd just ordered and Ariadne was rolling up the sleeves of her cardigan and sipping on her lemon water when Arthur decided to bring up his news. "Guess what?"

"What?" The girl mocked his tone and volume (keeping the glass by her lips).

"I talked with one of my old clients yesterday and he needs me for more work in Germany after this. Recon and such." He was afraid of her reaction to his immediate departure after their Roman job and eyed her circumspectly, waiting for how she would take it. Ariadne set her glass down normally and nodded. Her features seemed pleasantly excited. Her reply didn't leave much to go on, "That's cool."

Ok…This was going relatively well. The idea wasn't too—anything for her. The woman kept sipping at her water and frivolously playing with the ends of her napkin. Arthur took a turn for the more conversational approach, "Have you ever been to Germany?" Shaking her head, she reached out for a breadstick and began to pick it apart. It made Arthur a little more nervous. Now she wasn't talking. "Well, my job is in Berlin but there is a bridge in Prague, you'd absolutely die over."

Again, she unnerved him by her lackadaisical gesture of shrugging, "I think I've seen pictures on the internet of it. It's nice. How long do you have to be there?"

Arthur wasn't sure about that detail yet. He hadn't gotten the full scope of what information was required of him and how in depth he needed to dig. He gave her his best estimate while reaching for a breadstick of his own, "One to two months, I believe. Maybe three at the most but that depends on whether another client I'm in negotiations with signs me on for a gig in February. Then I'll have to cram to finish it and head to Brazil."

The Architect was chewing on her lip more than the bread. Ultimately, she plastered on a smile and remarked, "Well, it sounds like fun."

Arthur released a deep and thankful breath, "Good, I'm glad you think so."  
xxxxxxx

_You dropped a bomb on me, baby. You dropped a bomb on meee…_

"Shut up," rasped a sleepy Architect, her hand falling through the air and completely missing the cell phone she was trying to stop from ringing. What was she thinking when she made that intolerable song her ringtone? The groovy melody would NOT quit shrilling even when she buried her head under her pillow and tried to squeeze the sound out. Eventually, she gave up and grouchily sat up to answer it. "What?"

"Good, you're up." Arthur commented.

"I wasn't actually," the woman whispered back. Eyes closed, already half asleep again, "Can't sleep again?" (like every other night?)

A long sigh puffed into her ear and made her pry her eyes open, "No."

Ariadne rubbed her face and then reached over to turn the lamp on. This was something new with him: calling her at random hours of the night. 2 am, 3 am, 4 am. Normally, the Point Man worried about interrupting her sleep. Unless he was calling to make sure she was up in the morning (which she asked him to do), on the whole he was careful (and constantly worried) about disturbing her during the night hours. But since they got the call about the exact date of the extraction he'd begun doing this. Arthur would call until she answered and every time greeted her with a relieved 'good, you're up.' Her response changed interminably. Ariadne would ask what he needed and he would brush it off with 'I couldn't sleep.' Then the Parisian would offer to talk to him until he fell asleep and he would decline and wish her a good night. It was strange. At first, the notion of midnight conversations was enchanting but he never conversed. It was like he called just to call. Ariadne wondered if it was a stress-induced thing because of the impending D-Day for their operation. This time, the Architect decided to change up their routine, "Are you ok? You haven't been sleeping well since we heard from the Client."

"It's nothing, really." Followed by a few deep breaths. Something was wrong. He was upset. Ariadne could feel it. Since they started spending so much time together, the Architect developed a new super power. Everything he felt, she miraculously did too.

"Talk to me about it," coaxed the girl.

"I'll be fine," the man insisted, "I just needed to hear your voice."

What was going on with him? Ariadne sat up in her bed, getting more alarmed as he got more calm. "Arthur—"

"I'm sorry to have woken you up. Goodnight, Ari."  
xxxxxxx

In hindsight, Arthur reckoned that the Architect started acting funny in subtle ways since that conversation at lunch. Or maybe since he started impulsively calling her during the night. Was she beginning to feel harassed? It was nothing overtly radical. In fact, he was sure that only _he_ detected the tiny differences in the way she regarded him. Her usual gaiety when alone with him had watered down. It became where Arthur was the only one of the two who suggested they do things and while Ariadne never turned him down (she always readily complied), she didn't seek him out and propose any one-on-one herself. She let him do it. Their romance couldn't be burning out already. Arthur was just beginning to realize how much of a toll their relationship was having on him, how important she was becoming, how much potential his feelings for her could reach…Ariadne couldn't be getting sick of him yet. It would surely crush him. On their way back to the hotel from the warehouse one night, he was compelled to ask, "Is everything alright?"

"Mhm," Ariadne quizzically stared at him, stepping around a wad of gum on the sidewalk. "Why wouldn't it be?" Or why _would _they be, she could ask herself. Things between them were _just _falling perfectly in place and now everything was falling apart. The job was nearly over and their time together in Rome was ticking away. Then he'd be off for 3 months or longer caught up in job after job. Something was eating at him, bothering him and he wouldn't let her in. It was unnerving.

"I don't know." Something was telling him not to let her put it to rest. After all, she'd looked down at his hand while he outstretched it to hold hers and tried to inconspicuously pocket it before he could. "Have I said something wrong?"

"No." Great. Now, she wouldn't look at him either. The Architect was endeavoring to look at the lights, the sky, the random Italian sign, anywhere but him. Arthur took it upon himself to stand in front of her to garner her attention. She bumped right into him. A perfect position for him to rest his palms on her shoulder, "What did I do? You're angry with me. Is this because I've been calling you in the middle of the night a lot? I'm sorry…I'll try not—"

The girl in front of him sighed, "No, I don't mind that." Her eyes came to rest on the lamp post behind him. It looked all burnt out and alone. The flames in it flickering and dying like their short-lived romance. "I'm not angry…just a bit…sad."

"Sad." Arthur tasted the word in his mouth. It was bitter and harsh. Why would his girl be sad? What had he done to instill that emotion in her and what mountain did he have to move to rectify it? " Why?"

Up and down, her shoulders lifted and fell. "This is our last week in Rome. And then you'll be in Germany and then Brazil and I'll be in Paris and I don't know when I'll see you again and—I'll just miss you is all." Sullenly, she fingered the cuff of his sleeve, "It feels like this is going to taper out and I'm trying to make it easier."

His eyebrows raised, twisted in confusion, "Miss me? You decided not to come with me to Germany, then?"

"With you? I—I didn't—" she stuttered and at last the both of them were puzzled. Staring at each other like they had two heads or something.

Arthur pulled her to sit on the bench after the light bulb went off in his head. "I asked you…at Santinos. I'm sorry. I'm not gifted in communication. When I asked if you'd ever been, I was implicating that I was inviting you." Still lost, her eyes swiped side to side. Maybe the strangers strolling past would remember her invitation? "You asked how long it'd be…and when you said it sounded like fun I assumed you knew what I was asking. That that meant yes."

"Oh…" deadpanned Ariadne. "Well I—yeah. You do kinda suck at getting things across."

"Wow. Thank you," he pretended to be hurt then brushed it off. "Well now that the offer is clear," Arthur moved off the bench and got down on one knee, "Ariadne Bourgeois. Will you do me the honor of accompanying me to Germany?"

Her feet swung up and rested on his knee comfortably, "I mean…_Germany? _Who would say no to kielbasa, sauerkraut and the idealistic, romantic home front of the once-Nazis?"

"I take it that's a yes?"

"It's a Heil yes, Point Man," snickered Ariadne.  
xxxxxxx

Putting her phone on vibrate made her awakening less jarring but the loud buzzing against the wood of her bedside table still made her cringe. Ariadne rolled over with the phone to her ear, "Yes Arthur?"

"You're awake." Why did he sound_ so_ comforted by that?

"Yup. Want to talk about what's bugging you yet?" The warm sheets around her were beckoning her into dream-land. Her voice had to have come across breathy. Arthur didn't answer with anything but even breaths. "If not, can I go back to _not_ being awake?"

"I'm sorry. Night."  
xxxxxxx

Another day, another car ride.

Ariadne was happily gobbling up her morning croissant and watching the sights whir past when Arthur's hand snaked over the middle console and weaved with hers unexpectedly. He showed no sign of importance in the gesture. In fact, he kept his eyes and thoughts on the road, signaling for turns and checking his rearview. His calloused hand latching into hers happened as easily as him straightening his tie or pocketing his phone. Moments like this, Ariadne had to stop whatever she was doing and rethink reality. Comfortable intimacy looked great on Arthur but seemed too good to be true. She often gaped at him like he had seven eyes or green skin when he did sweet nothings. Things like kissing her temple as he passed at work or hugging her from behind and resting his chin on her shoulder as they rode the elevator together. Ariadne didn't know what she expected from the man when they fell into their relationship or whatever this was but she wasn't expecting it to come as naturally as it had to him.

The Point Man sensed her examining stare and made one of his silly faces at her, "What?"

"Nothing…" melodically chimed from her mouth before a sip of her coffee. He loved the way she did that. Made everyday words sound like songs.

"You're looking at me weird again." He shook their hands. She shook her head, "It's just still really bizarre to me. I'm trying to wrap my head around it."

"Around what?" fished the man.

"Us."

"What?"

Ariadne repeated herself louder, "_Us_."

Arthur squinted his eyes and rotated his head, "I'm sorry, what?" To which she huffed and elaborated, "US. You and me? Me and you? Arthur and Ariadne? Together. Dating. Us. Does that make sense?"

"It always made sense," he simpered, "I just like making you say it." The Architect rolled her eyes as he thought aloud, "It is pretty different."

"_Different? _It's insane. A month ago it was a big deal for you to high-five me and now you're holding my hand. And you like check me out and kiss me all the time." The woman made her case.

The glint in his eye sparked, "And yet not nearly enough."

She pointed at him emphatically, "See? And you say flirty stuff! I have trouble comprehending that you're the same person."

He regarded her quickly before reverting his focus back to the road, "What, you don't think it's strange for _me_?"

"No, I imagine it's stranger. Coming to terms with the idea that you're not only involved in a relationship but with me of all people." That was another crazy phenomenon. If Arthur ever ended up with someone, Ariadne was certain it wouldn't be her. She was too messy, unorganized, young looking and acting. She pictured him falling for a well-endowed, tall, blonde supermodel. Or his Macbook. Never her.

Arthur's face scrunched in thought, "I honestly don't know how you managed to weasel your way in and make me this way." Ariadne stared at her coffee cup, unsure of how to respond. Until he squeezed her hand, "But I wouldn't change it. I'm happier than I've been in a long time, Ari." That made her beam, of course. Always insecure when it came to reciprocation, Arthur had to ask, "Are _you_ happy? With me?"

"Very." Her answer didn't miss a beat as she brought their hands up to kiss the top of his. The Point Man melted into a dimply, tingly happy state. But then instantaneously congealed once Ariadne changed topics, "I'm worried about you though. You've been calling me every night now…and you always sound anxious."

The Point Man cleared his throat and clipped, "It's close to the execution date. I get very stressed and hearing you helps calm me down." Thankfully, Ariadne dropped it. (Most likely due to his tone and it's obvious hesitation to discuss it further.) To lighten the mood back up, he suggested something he'd been thinking over. "Hey, we have a day or two in between this job and Berlin. What do you say we surprise visit the Cobbs?"  
xxxxxxx

Ariadne blearily jolted awake to urgent knocking at her door. Moaning, she pulled herself up and checked her phone. Five missed calls from Arthur. She forgot to switch her cell from silent to vibrate before going to bed…oops. The knocking continued. And then his rasp filled voice sounded, "Ari?" Knowing the Point, when she failed to answer it probably put him on high alert, ninja assassin mode. "Ariadne, wake up. Can you hear me? Ari?"

The woman slid out of bed, shrugged on a cardigan and opened the door with a less than bemused facial expression. Arthur looked like he could collapse with relief as he pulled her into him, burying his face in her neck, "Thank God." What was mild annoyance at first dropped into full-fledged panic when Arthur clung to the back of her sweater, "I shouldn't have left you…I-I shouldn't leave you. I can't leave you. I can't—"

Ariadne tried to pry him off to look him in the eyes, "Arthur. What is going on?"

"You wouldn't answer your phone." He finally pulled away and looked down to where a metallic briefcase sat against her door, "I brought the PASIV. I was going to go down and get you. I thought you couldn't wake up—I was so worried…"

She gave him a concerned once over, "Why would you be worried? What are you talking about?"

"No," the reality of her being awake and standing in front of him slowly sank in and calmed him down, "You woke up. Everything's fine now, never mind." Arthur even gained the audacity to turn to leave. The Architect wasn't about to have it though. His problems were having a huge toll on them and with the job impending tomorrow, it needed to be out in the open. Ariadne grabbed his hand and yanked him back, "You're freaking me out."

"I'm sorry for waking you up," he apologized and kissed her forehead, preparing to head back to his room.

"Arthur…," She immobilized him effortlessly once her hands gripped his shirt, "Talk to me."

The Point Man grit his teeth but decided to come to terms with it, "I'm stressed. I've been having nightmares."

"About?" pushed the woman.

"Leaving you to run the first level by yourself. I keep dreaming that something goes wrong, you get ambushed by projections, get sent to limbo and won't wake up. I keep dreaming that you _can't_ wake up and it scares the shit out of me."

Ahh. So many questions answered. Arthur had been calling just to make sure she was capable of waking up because of his nightmares. Ariadne pulled him into her room, shut the door and made him sit on the edge of her bed. "I'm going to be fine. I've been training for this. His subconscious isn't even militarized."

"Anything could happen," he rubbed his forehead.

"You're right. But just because it could doesn't mean it will." Not knowing what else to do, Ariadne pulled a water bottle from the mini bar and held it out to him.

"I just got you. I can't lose you," Arthur ignored her offer of water and pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked more disheveled than she'd ever seen. His hair all over the place, no shoes or socks on his feet, his sweatpants riding up his shins, his undershirt wrinkled. Was Ariadne really that important to him? That he'd been so concerned over her he was starting to naturally dream again? The woman smoothed his hair back, "Why don't you stay in here tonight?"

He grimaced, "Tomorrow's the big day; I don't want to impose on you."

"You're not," affirmed the Parisian. "We both need our sleep. This way you won't have to call me or come down here, you can just look and see that I'm fine." She smiled to herself, "And I can sleep without interruption."

Arthur thought skeptically about it but in the end complied. What better to way to convince himself she was ok than to see it for himself? He awkwardly moved to the side of the bed that looked most un-slept in. "I'll sleep above the covers."

Ariadne sat up against the headboard while he settled in. He laid on his stomach, his hands under the extra pillow. Sometime after she turned off the lamp and her eyes adjusted to the dark he murmured, "I'm sorry for all of this fuss, Ariadne. I don't know what's wrong with me. I don't mean to be clingy."

"Don't apologize for caring about me. It's sweet." (And eye-opening. They were getting deep if their subconscious' were getting involved. It was a little terrifying if she was honest. Maybe that's why he tried to downplay it and keep his reasons for calling from her. He was afraid it would scare her off.) Arthur fell asleep first with Ariadne's nails tracing soothing circles on his back.  
xxxxxxx

Arthur ended up not having anything to worry about. Sure, Ariadne had her difficulties ( in truth she almost had two meltdowns. Which she wouldn't relate to him or else he'd have a conniption) but when everyone kicked up, so did she. The happy couple lounged on the plane to LA. Life of Pi was playing on the in-flight television, the low hum of the engine lingered in the background and one of the attendants had come by and dropped off a water and sprite to the Point. It wasn't a long flight but the stress of the job (though it'd been successful) was enough to drag Ariadne into sleep. One of her earphones had fallen out and dangled and her feet were tucked under because she was cold. It was an endearing sight, especially with her cheeks flushed and breaths bottomless and peaceful.

Since she curled into herself because of the chill, Arthur shrugged his jacket off and swathed her in it, tucking it under her chin and buttoning it. Her head slipped and rested on his shoulder and from there she instinctively settled into his side. As has been displayed, Arthur was never a tender person. Her ingenuity and virtue was making him one. Not that Arthur hadn't been chivalrous before the Architect. He pulled out chairs and opened doors for women but only because that was how he was raised. The manners to respect the fairer sex were ingrained in him. The difference with Ariadne was that there was reason in everything he did for her. He didn't pull out her chair or open the door for her because that's what he'd grown up doing but because he felt the need to put her first, to be of use to her in every step no matter how small. The privilege of being hers, of being able to call Ariadne his, instilled an overwhelming pride he was never (could have never on his own been) prepared for.

His only regret was that he hadn't realized it sooner—that this girl was the reason the earth spun on an axis. It was there but he didn't allow himself to discover it. For instance, for a while he'd noticed how warm her touch was. All the time. When they shook hands, when she patted his shoulder, when he hooked her up to the PASIV. Her body radiated a natural clement temperature. She'd probably make the finest of blankets. What he hadn't understood until recently was that her warmth wasn't just in the literal sense of heat. It was in the softness with which she made contact. The earnest kindness and benevolence in it. The way it comforted and welcomed…the way she was able to soothe (or create) the wildest of storms in him with one thoughtful caress. There was always sincerity behind Ariadne's actions—whatever they were— and he was learning that the more time he spent with her, the more the sincerity in all of _his_ deeds organically grew.

Then there was the way she smiled. Again, even during Inception he'd observed the mechanics. They were usually close-lipped (almost always snarky smirks) but other than that he didn't pay attention. On further inspection? She had different smiles for everything. But his favorite was the one she used when she blushed. When her head dipped and her eyelashes fluttered from all the blinking. When her cheeks and sometimes her neck lit up with a rosy tint. When she had to bite her lip…he found himself doing things to make her redden just for that purpose. Arthur would say something particularly flirty or brush against her in the workplace. The easiest way to do it was to comment appreciatively on her appearance. He could whisper in her ear and call her "beautiful" and get an instant adorable reaction. And it always made Arthur's grin so wide his dimples showed. And her eyebrows. Who would've ever thought that a lift of her eyebrow could elicit remarkable tingles in his stomach? Or that the way she pulled her hair out of her jacket after slugging it on made him want to wrap his arms around her waist and bury his nose in her locks? And it was admittedly nothing spectacular. Ariadne was ordinary. She operated simply and plainly. Maybe it was because Arthur lacked romance in his life since his early years at university and didn't remember what it felt like. Or maybe this was a sensation unique to Ariadne. Arthur literally lived from kiss to kiss, hanging on the burn of his lips from the last until the next renewed it.

This (sitting here with her head planted on his shoulder and her puffs of breath tickling his neck) was the satisfaction in life that he'd been chasing. The bliss and splendor that millions of people expected from an excess of material possessions and wealth but never found. A small fireball of energy and sarcasm was all Arthur had ever searched for without knowing. Ariadne was everything he ever wanted. And now, he firmly believed that she was the reason his father was so hard on him growing up. So that he'd rebel against him and join the army. So that he'd fall from the two story building, damage a spinal disk and end up having to be discharged in Paris. So he could meet Miles and in turn meet Dom so that ultimately he would be introduced to the miracle sleeping soundly against him. The Point Man had never been so grateful for the path that led him to this airplane. To this moment. To being able to weave their fingers together and rest his head on Ariadne's.

A row ahead and across from them Arthur caught the eye of a little old woman smiling admiringly at he and the Architect. Her wrinkled hand was entwined with that of the little old man who favorably looked over her shoulder. Arthur smiled back and returned his gaze to the inflight movie, rubbing circles on Ariadne's thumb with his.

xxxxxxx

**Knock Knock Knock. **

Cobb switched the stove off, moved the saucepot over to cool and took the salad out of the fridge. Philippa was in the living room coloring and James was multitasking between playing with dinosaur action figures and watching tv. Ariadne called a week ago and asked if she could visit them while she passed through on her way to Germany. Dom not only readily encouraged her to come see them but to stay at the house as well. That was when she dropped the news: That she had a boyfriend she wanted Philippa to meet. Philippa however did _not _want to meet the man. "Kids, that's probably Ariadne." James popped to his feet excitedly but then his older sister grabbed his hand and fussed at him to sit down. Passing through the living area on the way to the door, Dom gave his children a stern look, "Come introduce yourselves to her boyfriend."

"He can't come in." Adamantly, the little girl crossed her arms over her chest, "He's not family."

"Philippa," reprimanded the father. He'd been over this countless times. Philippa had a fit when she heard her Auntie Ari had picked up a significant other in Rome. "You're going to be polite to him, do you understand? You don't want to make Ari feel uncomfortable do you?" James shook his head emphatically and scurried to his dad before Philippa could pressure him into acting like her. The girl turned her chin up and grabbed a crayon, "I'm mad at Ari."

"You can't be mad at her for not liking who you want her to like." Another thing he'd reminded his daughter over and over. Some more knocks rapped against the door so he warned, "You _will _be sweet." Then he put on a smile and swung the door open. "Hey!"

Ariadne stood with nothing but her cross-body bag, white box and phone in hand, "Hi! I was fixing to call you." James beat the Extractor to hugging her by diving for her leg. It took Cobb until he hugged her to see that behind her was— "Arthur?" James didn't understand why his father was questioning it, so he affirmed with "Uncle Arthur!" and another leg hold.

Dom pulled him into a guy hug, "This is a nice surprise! Didn't know you were coming too."

"Yes, you did." Arthur panned.

Did he? The blonde had to think for a moment…"No, Ariadne just mentioned bringing her new boyfriend." Oblivious, he looked between the two to the driveway, expecting someone to be getting out of the car or crossing the lawn. "Where is the lucky guy, anyway?"

Ariadne grinned and blinked at him expectantly. It wasn't until Dom glanced back at Arthur and studied him. The Point was holding a duffel but Ariadne's overnight bag was hanging off his shoulder…he was smirking…and was that smudge lip gloss in the corner of his mouth? Cobb looked back at Ariadne, then Arthur, then Ariadne. The Point and Architect were the only two people on the porch. "No way…Woa—"

"Are you going to let us in?" Arthur interrupted.

The Extractor shook his head to clear, "Yeah, yeah." He stepped aside to let them in (pulling James out of the way) and called through the house. "Philippa! Come here, you'll love him."

The Point Man closed the door behind them and set the bags down. They could hear the young girl sigh and drag her feet. Could hear groan, "No, I won't. Because he's not Uncle—" The child froze, eyes wide. Then BOOM. The brightest smile spread across her face as she sprinted to the couple to dole out hugs and kisses, "Arthur!"

"Uncle Arthur is your boyfriend?!" She squealed hopefully up at Ariadne. Once given an amused nod, Philippa jumped and shook Arthur's arm, "Really really?! You like Auntie Ari?" Arthur chuckled and nodded at her too. The little girl took her brother's shoulders and shook him, "We did it James!"

Ariadne then opened the white box in her hand and revealed a dozen assorted pastries, "And he bought us donuts, as promised."  
xxxxxxx

That night, Ariadne put the kids to sleep after an hour of playing chef and restaurant, an hour and a half of dragon and princesses, two hours of Wreck It Ralph and a half hour of ice cream. James was the easier of the two. The Architect barely got through half of her Jason and the Argonauts tale before the little boy passed out. The girl on the other hand was too full of questions. She laid on her side brightly staring up at the Architect, clutching her stuffed tiger. "Do you hold hands?"

"Mhm."

"Have you hugged?" inquired the child curiously.

Ariadne laughed at her, "Yes, Philippa, we've hugged."

She used her sing-song voice and mischievous, up-to-no-good grin, "Have you _kissed_?"

Ariadne blushed. "We've kissed."

"Oooooooooh…" the child teased. Then in all seriousness with sparkles in her tiny blue eyes she questioned, "Do you tell each other 'I love you' all the time? Like my mommy and daddy did?"

Ariadne squinted, "Well—we haven't been together as long as your mom and dad. Love's a little far off from us right now. I don't think we're ready for it." She tried to compromise with the kid, "But we really like each other."

Philippa shrugged as best she could in her position. Yawned. "You love each other. I can tell."

The Architect didn't know what to say to that. So she settled for tucking the covers under Pippa's chin as she drifted off.  
xxxxxxx

The next day they got up, went to lunch and a quick visit to the park before the couple had to catch their plane. Ariadne ran off with the kids in the direction of the swings and gave the men time for a buddy to buddy chat. They relaxed on one of the wooden benches near the fountains and relished in the semi-quiet. "So Ariadne, huh?" Cobb broke the peace.

Arthur allowed his eyes to flit over to where the Architect was patiently teaching James to pump his legs. He couldn't help the dimples, "Yeah. Ariadne." Her name rolled off his tongue like honey. And tasted just as sweetened.

"I figured if anyone could wear you down, it'd be her," his best friend admitted, "but to see it in actuality? To watch you interact with her—"

"I know. She and I talk about how crazy it is all the time," Arthur chortled. It was becoming easier and easier to accept however. Beginning to feel like what was truly crazy was the idea of them being strangers. Of him being anything but a puddle of sentimentality around the woman.

Dom peered into the distance, watching carefully as Philippa jumped from the swing mid-air and fell to her knees when she landed in the sand. She ran back around to hop on the swing again without a hint of injury. "How'd it come about?"

Arthur swayed his head side to side, thinking of how to put it. "We were working together in Rome. Some jackass Chemist tried to sweep her off her feet and I had an epiphany. I realized I wanted her for myself."

For the first time in their conversation, the blonde looked at his friend. It was calculating and hard and concerned all in one. He didn't like the answer Arthur gave him. It was unsettling. "Please be careful." Confused considering the context, Arthur returned Dom's gaze. The Extractor didn't need to be asked to clarify himself, "I'm worried this is just a phase."

"What would give you reason to think it is?" Arthur's head tilted. Challenging.

The other man took a deep breath and glanced over at the woman in question. The one competing with Philippa for height on the swings. "Ariadne has always had a thing for you. She's always put you up on this pedestal and—well not a lot of people like you Arthur—so I think in your own way you liked the importance she made you feel and I'm afraid that what's happened here was that another man took that attention and shook up your ego so you acted brashly, out of jealousy, to get her full responsiveness again."

Dom wasn't there. Dom wasn't inside his head. How dare he dictate what Arthur was feeling? He hadn't seen Arthur in months, how would he know? He hadn't been around him and Ariadne enough to gather sufficient evidence. Defensively, Arthur corrected him, "Jealousy didn't _create _my feelings for her. It was the catalyst that drove me to act on them."

"If you say so, I believe you," nodded the blonde.

Arthur ground his jaw, "When have you known me to fool around on a whim, Dom? For the sake of my ego? I don't operate like that." He resented the fact that Cobb was minimizing his relationship. As far back as he could remember Dom and Mal had tried setting him up with different women. They tried normalizing him, humanizing him, by sending him on blind and double dates. Arthur was always dead set against attachments no matter how swollen or bruised his ego got because of a particular woman.

"I know, which is what concerns me! This isn't like you." His hand ran through his greasy tresses. He was trying to relate the dangers of what was happening without offending his best friend too thoroughly. Dom was trying to protect the both of them in the long run. "I'm afraid you're going to wake up one day and the Point Man in you is going to come back to his senses and decide a relationship isn't good for your career. Ariadne's a very passionate person. She wears her heart on her sleeve. If you allow her to get close to you for however many months and then end it abruptly…it'll crush her. I don't want to see that happen."

Stiffly, the Point responded, "I don't intend on that happening. She's not a mere flirtation to me. She's much more than that. I care _very_ deeply for Ariadne. "

"I never said you didn't—"

"I think I'm in love with her, Dom."

The Extractor's words died in his throat. He stopped in his tracks. His eyes jumped back to the children: Philippa was twisting her swing around to make it spin, James was kicking his feet and talking up a storm. Ariadne was swinging moderately slow next to him and listening with an attentive ear. Then his contemplation jumped back to his best friend who had found the trio as well. Ariadne must've felt their stares because she instinctively looked over at them and waved. The way Arthur gazed in her direction as he waved back…Dom was at a loss for words. A faraway smile had snaked onto the Point Man's visage while he distractedly spoke, "I'm happier than I've been in a long time."  
xxxxxxx

_If I'd only felt the warmth within your touch  
If I'd only seen how you smile when you blush  
Or how your curl your lip when you concentrate enough  
I would've known what I've been living for all along.  
What I've been living for._

-Turning Page by Sleeping At Last

Ya'll Germany is where all the fun firsts happen. WINK. WINK.


	19. Rock Your Soul

Thank you so much friends! Response for the last chapter was better than I imagined it would be. (It really wasn't my favorite; I wasn't happy with how it turned out).

_Guest: _Well thank you for leaving this one! I won't pretend I'm amazing at geography and knew that. I was shamefully going from my pocket planes game lol. And it looks like Prague is in the vicinity because the map is so small…oops. But that's what I get from not researching like I normally do. *slaps self for laziness* Thank you for clarifying though! That's good to know. We'll say that Arthur meant that it was close and they could visit. _lilachiccups: _lol. I think Arthur and Ari are just those kinds of characters that you can't help but squeal over. I just find sweet situations to stick em in. Haha. And oh yes…I don't want to spoil anything but there will be more yelling in the future. Thanks for the warning but I know to expect it. haha. _Lauraa-x: _Can I just say again, that I always enjoy your analysis of my chappies? I literally post a chapter and go…I wonder what lauraa-x is gonna say about that. Haha…Pip is definitely on our team. _ : _THANK. YOU. SO. MUCH. =) _kamarooka: _Thanks. I aim not to make it tooooo cheesy but sometimes I get carried away with myself. Good to know I've reined it in ok. Can't speak for this chapter though. _numbah435spiritsong: _syf89pidhfs thanks. Yes Dom and the kids are fun! _wilddarkhaunt: _Hahaha she sure loves her gelato. Mm I think the correct phrase would be I'm ship them too. Or I'm an A/A shipper or something like that. Haha your speech was great. Aw thanks =) I'm glad I measured the cheese out just right. _Amelia-Rose: _Yes Arthur's in pretty deep isn't he. He doesn't do anything half-assed so I guess falling in love is the same. Actually, I think Ariadne got to that point before Arthur but doesn't want to voice because she knows it takes time for him to open up and admit things not only to himself but others. I think she's trying to save herself some potential embarrassment in case he's the one who's not there yet. Go Germany! _Komods: _Thank you so much! Welcome to the With You party!

_ 33: _You're a super star for following and favoriting the story! Welcome to the cool club. Haha.

**Chapter 19: Rock Your Soul**

Ariadne stood at the window, looking out at the lights of city with her back towards the Point Man. She took her time inhaling deep breaths. Arthur on the other hand stood at the door with his back towards Ariadne, gritting his jaw. The Architect's phone was set to go off at the top of the new hour. They waited with bated breath. The girl flexing and unflexing her hands by her back pocket and Arthur doing head and shoulder rolls. Then a wild, wild, west ringtone came to life from the tiny device on his desk. The Point yelled, "Draw!" And they grasped at their weapons and twisted to aim. "Bang!" Ariadne shouted first.

Arthur clutched his chest, tripped back into the door and slid down it. Satisfied, the girl twirled her laser pointer around her finger, blew on the end and tucked it back into the waistband of her jeans. She strutted to tower over him with a smirk, "Eleven to six. You suck at this game."

He broke character, came back to life and pointed at her, "I'm only behind because I'm hesitant to shoot you." His pointer got shoved into his inner jacket pocket.

"With a pen?" She tilted her head. "Excuses…Face it, I've just bested you in _another_ thing you've taught me," gloating still, she rubbed it further in by polishing her nails on her shirt.

"Remind me never to teach you point-work," The Point pushed against the door to stand and kissed her lightly forehead, "I'd be out of a job."

Ariadne agreed by pursing her lips and nodding. Softening the non-existent blow with, "I'd keep you around for the charisma."

Ariadne had been chilling with the Point Man in his room while he worked. It became routine for her to hang out until meal times when he could take a break. Mostly so she could make him take a break and get some sustenance. They ate sandwiches from meat and cheese they picked up in a local deli and Arthur strung it out as long as he could. It was nine and he was back heavy into the depths of the internet so Ariadne decided she would leave him be. She could actually watch tv in her room because the noise wouldn't distract him if he wasn't there. Skinny arms slid over his chest and hugged him from behind. She murmured into his ear low so as not to disturb him too much, "I'm gonna head up to my room."

"K." He was obviously distracted by his task but asked (with the sounds of the keyboard all in between), "Want me to walk you?"

It was silly. He never failed to ask her if she needed his accompaniment for the five floor journey like the hotel corridors were alleys in gang member territory. And she never failed to clarify that it wasn't a need (she could take down the bellboy and occasional lone drunk herself) but a want. Tonight, however, he was in the middle of something seemingly urgent and since it wasn't a necessity, she didn't feel right pulling him away from it for more couple time they didn't need. Ariadne watched the letters appear in the codec while he hacked through the firewall of some protected site and smirked. "Nah, I'll be fine. You have important work to finish."

"If you're sure." Ariadne silently laughed at that. He was in his own world just then. His mind whirring with numbers and letters and techniques to pry himself into the digital world of secrets. Arthur was barely aware of their exchange. The typing halted momentarily so he could turn his head and kiss her, "See you sometime tomorrow, Beautiful."

The girl flushed (she always did when he called her that) and nodded, extracting her arms. She stretched a little, arms above her head, grabbed her bag and headed for the door, "Love you."

"Love you too," he called amidst the smoke collecting around his fast-typing fingers on the keyboard, focus temporarily diverted for her once again.

"Night," The door swung open for her farewell. "Night," and closed for his.

It'd only been two days into his recon so it was understandable that Arthur had barely scratched the surface of the information pool. At that point, he was merely gathering sources that would be of use and picking out surrounding subjects that he needed to do more in depth examination of. This was always the fun part of his job: discovering paths to peruse down. He'd always liked pretending to be Sherlock Holmes when he was younger and reconnaissance was very much like detective work. He liked to start out with at least ten to fifteen sources of substantial content that he could frequent daily to get a sufficient idea of the mark's routine and lifestyle. That way when he delved further into his files, Arthur could multitask and keep up with the mark's every move in real time with an easy click on one of many tabs. The Point Man had found seven legitimate roots of intelligence so far and—

Wait.

Had Ariadne just said she loved him as she left? Because she never had before. Was it his imagination? Because he was admittedly only half paying attention. Yes. Arthur was pretty sure she had because when he thought hard to recall every word said fifteen minutes prior to this very thought, he definitely reciprocated her remark. How did that happen? Arthur didn't say that to anyone. Not since his mother. He awkwardly forced himself to tell James and Philippa he loved them too when they chimed it to him. Not that he didn't love them—of course he did, he'd watched them grow from newborns. He sat with Cobb in the waiting room while Mal was in labor and visited them for nearly every birthday. Arthur allowed them to call him their Uncle for crying out loud—but it wasn't something he readily voiced. And BAM. Arthur blurted out such a meaningful, grandeur and monumental phrase without a second thought. Hmm…Did he truly feel that strongly for her? He felt strongly but _that _intense? Not that he hadn't been considering the possibility he might be falling in love with her. He confessed it to Cobb. But in the moment, when he said it, was it true? Was it factual? Could the Point Man coherently say that and mean it if he wasn't distracted? Would he say it again? Voluntarily?

Absolutely.

Arthur looked away from the single word on the screen he'd zoned out on and stared at the door. Damn, he _loved _the Architect. And bit by bit, that word took on a different meaning. You could love a lot of things. Arthur loved dreaming, he loved cold winter walks in San Francisco, he loved his laptop and the feeling of a fresh shave. He loved meticulousness and order, he loved to organize, loved the atmosphere of airports. This was remarkably dissimilar. The Point Man was absolutely besotted. How strange that once the profundity of one's sentiments revealed themselves, it became a new ballgame. Arthur knew he was keenly attracted to Ariadne. That her presence induced in him the feeling of euphoria. Arthur knew he really, really liked her and thinking about her with Gavin or Eames or any other man made him want to punch something. But wow, he didn't consider that he might _love_ her…and that only became clearer the more he sat at the desk and pondered it. He adored the way she scrunched her nose when he said something stupid, the way she snapped her fingers when she thought of a good idea, the way she— This was befuddling. Unequivocally—Arthur was smitten! Twitterpated, even! He'd always hated that expression but how true and how completely—damn, Arthur. You're in love—and what an extremely—wow, _Ariadne_. The tiny Architect from Inception. Her. She was the one. And—wait. She—Did she? You know what?

Ariadne loved him too.

Or that was the understanding, after all she had said it first and with deduced reasoning it only made sense that she felt the same. The realization that she reciprocated felt better than the one before. Did her chest feel like it was about to burst into oblivion now? Because Arthur's did. Was that normal? Is that what happens when you're in love—Love, what a nice word…What a nice feeling…Back to the matter at hand. What if it slipped and Ariadne hadn't actually meant it? But it slipped from him and he most definitely meant it. He most _ardently_ m—Did she seem like her feelings were identical? The Architect had agreed to come with him to Germany after all. The Architect…it was impossible not to smile when he thought of her. That was normal as well, he hoped. He'd never experienced it before so—well, there were two girls before. One in high school and one the first year of University that he thought were his first and second love—but it was nothing like this. Compared to this. No, obviously Ariadne was his actual, authentic, first love. Was he hers? On second thought, Arthur didn't give a shit if he was the first as long as he was one of them. The current one. Hopefully, the longest-lasting one. Was it typical to jump from thought to thought with the attention span of an ADHD diagnosed person when you were enamored with someone? Maybe Ariadne was experiencing the same peculiar sensations as he—

_Arthur what are you_—What was he doing sitting in front of a laptop undergoing this emotional transformation by himself? Why was he not already five floors up (SO FAR) smothering her with his glorious yet traumatic thought process? The Point Man clumsily (that was a new, unfortunate side effect. Would that be a lasting addition?) slammed his laptop shut, stuffed his room key in his back pocket and bolted out the door. Waiting in the elevator, he noticed he was barefoot. Oddly, he didn't mind. Arthur simpered at the employee waiting with a cart of room service, "I love Ariadne."

The young man tapped his feet and looked at the Point Man uncomfortably through the corner of his eye.

Arthur leaned over to peer at the kid's nametag, "Did you hear me, Bruno?" Beaming, he tapped on the metal dish covering to garner attention. "I'm in love with her. And she's in love with me."

"Uh…" panned Bruno… "Gut fur sie, herr." (Good for you, sir.)

**DING. **

Thank God. That elevator ride took years.  
xxxxxxx

Ariadne washed her face, brushed her teeth and changed into her sweats. Germany was very cool at night. She couldn't wait to snuggle up in the fluffy white comforter and produce some warmth. Her phone was fished out of her bag and put on the charger before her sling was haphazardly tossed onto the desk. Did she want to doodle some more before bed? Mmm..she must not have. The one American channel on television would suffice, she hadn't watched tv all day. The Architect turned off all her lights and grabbed the remote on her way to jump into the bed when—** .Thump **pounded urgently on her door. The tv remote flipped out of her hand and fell to the floor when she jumped. Her immediate thought was _Oh God, it's the Nazis. _Then she calmed herself by remembering _Hilter's dead. _First, she grabbed the gun from the back of her door and checked the peephole. It could've been a dream-share bounty hunter or something like that. You never know in this business…Weird. Arthur was pacing like a madman in and out of view in the hallway. She took her time putting the firearm back before opening her door. The woman couldn't help but flinch when he whipped around at the sound of her handle. His entire face was flushed. Arthur had olive skin, she'd never seen his cheeks tinted with red like hers. Why the hell was he so jumpy? "What are you doing? I thought you had that—"

Arthur dove his hand out to her doorframe, eyes maniacally sparkling in a manner that scared her, breathing hard like he just ran around the country, "We just told each other 'I love you'," the corners of his mouth tugged upward boyishly. Ariadne's head tilted and her mouth fell open, puzzled. Was he joking? Was he trying to get a rise out of her or…? "Downstairs as you were leaving, you said it." He clarified.

Eyes wide, Ariadne searched across the top of the doorframe. Thinking hard. The sudden chill from the hallway disrupted the warmth her in-room heater had been struggling to generate. "Did we?" Oh God, she didn't even remember herself saying it. Ariadne had no doubt she felt that way about him (she'd known that for the past week she was just afraid she was rushing into things and trying to deny it) but how embarrassing that she uncontrollably announced it. The Architect recollected thinking it…but she said it out loud? Holy shit…she hoped he said it back. Did he think the admission was funny? More importantly had she scared him off?

"Just like that." Arthur marveled, "Easy as breathing, I told you I love you."

Clearly, she still hadn't comprehended the magnitude of happiness radiating off of him because Ariadne stuttered and compromised, "If you're not ready we can take it back…"

"No, I meant it." His sturdy hands ran down her arms and grasped her elbows, "I love you." Ariadne had to swallow to help keep the pesky butterflies in her stomach at bay. His eyes were so powerful and glossy and she didn't know how to return it with as much enthusiasm in the midst of her astonishment. Especially as he guided her back into her room (the door clicked closed), "I'm so fucking in love with you, Ariadne." She was stunned by the outright declaration like she'd been tasered. If she managed to get it out of him at all, she expected it would be from years of wearing him down and even then she imagined she'd have to pull out the big guns, give him the puppy dog eyes and possibly fake death to coerce him into saying it _once_. He'd already said it twice. The man pressed his forehead next to hers and Ariadne had trouble comprehending why the insects in her belly persisted—since she was sure they'd been incinerated by the fire he just caused. "I seriously hope you share equal sentiments or the behavior I'm having trouble containing right now will rapidly become humiliating."

The girl's head shook, "I beat you to those sentiments about a week ago. Of course I'm in love with you too. Apparently, I already told you that." Arthur's dimples emerged and the room began spinning. When her brain recovered from the lapse in function, Ariadne realized she was being twirled around. She'd just adjusted to the circling when he set her down and babbled, "Lovers. _We're_ lovers. We're in love. We're _in _it, Ari. Do you understand that?"

Giddy that he was this excited and moved by her, the Architect chuckled, "I do. And I've never seen you act so thrilled. It's crazy." Her gaze ran up and down him, taking in his uncharacteristic inability to be still.

"Because I'm crazy _about you._ If this epiphany lasts any longer I may be admitted into the psyche ward by morning." Arthur took her hands and placed them on his chest, "Say it again," he requested.

"What? That I love you?"

All of his liveliness and bounciness and utter mania quieted down into an intimate contemplation. His rambling slowed and became a whisper, "Do you feel that?" Arthur then pressed her hands against the spot where his heart was stored, firmer, "It went from zero to five hundred miles per hour in the matter of a second. From you saying one word." Ariadne bit her lip and it made his stance waver, "And it just gets faster…" Magnetized, enchanted by a spell, Arthur's lids grew heavy and Ariadne's lungs filled with air (he stole all of it. All the oxygen in the room and became it for her) as he ran the tip of his nose from her temple down to her neck. The Architect made an involuntary noise following his kiss on her pulse point. He breathed, lingering there, trying to feel her heartbeat in the space between his eyes. Commit it to memory. "I hope I'm making your heart beat just as fast…"

Her mental capacities were losing their sharpness. He was gaining control over her (or maybe she was sacrificing it freely) like he had when he first kissed her back in Rome. When he made her head swim. When she could scarcely remember what planet she was on much less who she was. When all she was conscious of was every sensation he made her feel. Ariadne stammered, "It's skipping a few, actually." The smile against her skin sent volts of electricity down through her legs and made them considerably weak. She had to clutch his shirt for balance.

"Quick, give me a kiss."

Ariadne obliged fervently. Things fell away for both parties from there. The more their kisses deepened, the more knowledge slipped away. In this case meaning that the awareness of their surroundings and all thoughts that didn't have to do with the other person dwindled until all they were aware of was each other and how they could kiss over and over without the sensation dulling. How no matter how close they were, it wasn't close enough. How no multitude of pecks and caresses would ever suffice. Ariadne sighed another reflexive "I love you" into him as the back of her knees hit the edge of her bed. He laid her back delicately and leaned over her. It was difficult, with her hand running through his hair and over the back of his neck like that, but he was content to stick to feverish kissing for as long as she let him taste her. Ever the gentleman. It was Ariadne who started to impatiently unbutton his shirt and tug at his waistband. "Are you sure?" He heaved huskily, out of breath. Anchoring her head tenderly, briefly shutting his eyes as her thumbs brushed across his hipbones, "We just made a big step and this is another one. The last thing I want to do is mess things up by going too fast."

They locked eyes with crippling ardor and the mixture of chocolate with caramel had never been more delicious. "Arthur, I've wanted this for two and a half years. If anything, we're going too slow."

xxxxxxx

Arthur rolled to his side to watch her. They had both fallen into a satiated sleep afterwards but he'd awakened just thirty minutes later and energized like never before. Buzzed. Drunk on Ariadne like she was alcohol. Speaking of: she laid with hair all over her face—which was glowing rosily. Like she could sense his stare, her eyes blinked open. A rush of cool air hit her and she realized her top half was peeking out of the covers. Ariadne hurried to pull the sheet up over her chest. Arthur snickered at her sudden modesty, it wasn't like he hadn't seen and kissed and venerated them already. "Hi…" a devilish grin peeped at her and she blushed furiously, grasped the sheet tighter around her. "Um. Hi," stuttered the Architect, biting her lip to keep from smiling. Grabbing even more of the sheet, gracelessly tugging to release it from the bed, she scooted off, "I'm just gonna…be right back." He watched her saunter away wrapped up in the sheet (unable to keep his eyes off of the creamy skin peeking out the back). When she returned from the bathroom, she was loads more confident and comfortable than she had been going in. The sheet trailed behind her on the ground and she stood all buttoned up in his shirt. "I hope you don't mind. I couldn't find mine." Ariadne got back into the bed, covered her legs with the sheet and stole some of the comforter from him.

It made him downright scatter-brained and tongue-tied to see her in nothing but his shirt, honestly. Worse than seeing her stark naked. Well—both were—you know, he was going to stop while he was ahead and composed. "It—it looks better on you than it ever has on me." Arthur sat up against the headboard, watched her tuck her knees up and move hair her hair to her shoulders. Smiling, Arthur changed subject when he realized, "I _actually_ got my wish. Maybe your fairytale delusions are true."

"What are you talking about?" The Architect asked, confused. Blushing AGAIN when she met his eyes and remembered they'd seen what she was covering up at the moment.

"That night you dragged me to the Trevi Fountain," The Point reached his hand out and tucked some hair behind her ear, "I wished for you."

She glared but grinned, "You're lying."

"No, I swear," He urged while shaking his head. Thankfully, the initial awkwardness of not knowing what to do or say to each other died there. Instead of sitting completely on her side of the bed, with hands tucked over the sheets and into her lap, she maneuvered to lay on her stomach and rest her chin on his bare chest. "That makes me feel bad."

"Why?"

Ariadne half laughed, "I wished for free gelato."

"Always with the gelato…" groaned the man. Arthur teased in mock offense and ran his right hand in circles on her back ( a gesture in complete contrast to the façade he was trying to pull off), "Well…I guess we know who has stronger feelings for the other…"

The Architect pushed off of him to sit up and glared, "What_ever_. I've had feelings for you longer. Like, since my parents' house longer."

Arthur raised his eyebrows, "Quality versus quantity…" the hand on her back now lazily playing with the ends of her (his) shirt. "Besides, that's not valid considering I kissed you on the Fischer job. So technically _I've_ had these feelings longer."

"You kissed me _in a dream_, dummy," argued the woman, tweaking his ear, "Plus, I had a crush on you after our lesson on paradoxical architecture. So, HA." There she poked his chest with that cute scrunchy nose of hers.

"I was a goner the moment you opened your mouth and chewed Cobb out. And slapped me in the face with your jacket as you stormed off. I hoped you'd come back. I really did."

Ariadne moved her head back in surprise. She didn't think she truly grew on him until much later in the operation. Basically near the completion of. "Oh. Well at that point, I still thought you were an expensively dressed, pompous ass."

Arthur leered, "But you thought I was sexy and charming by the time you came back. I could tell." A wink was added to the mix. Ariadne faked a disgusted face and slapped his shoulder. He kept going, "Which is still technically _after _my attraction so I win. On all levels."

"Oh, shut up, Point Man."

"Make me," challenged Arthur.

"You have no idea how glad I would be to do that." All self-consciousness melted off her bones as she rolled on top of Arthur and kissed his jaw. He smiled cheekily back, "I love you."

Ariadne scoffed, "I love you more."

"Impossible." If there was one way the Architect would accept that word from his lips, that was it. She loved that word when he used it in that context. She contested anyways, "You know, Audrey Hepburn said that the word itself says 'I'm Possible.'" Ari pointed out all conceited and prideful.

Before she knew it, Ariadne was on her back again with Arthur on top shushing her, "Oh, _shut—,"_ Her mouth captured his before he could finish and pulled the comforter back over their heads. Arthur replaced his 'up' with an 'Mmmm' and allowed her to silence him however she chose.  
xxxxxxx

The Architect woke feeling cold without Arthur's arms around her. His pillows were sat right-side up and his dice gone from his bedside table. She turned to tip her chess piece in case she'd imagined the blissful evening before. Lying next to it was a purple tulip and a folded piece of legal paper:

_Had to go down to the post office. Didn't run out on you, I promise. Last night was the best night of my life. Order us lunch from room service. I'll be back around one. _

_I love you, A. _

Ariadne read the note over and folded it up for safe keeping in her bag. After taking a shower and brushing her teeth, she slipped on some underwear under his shirt and some of his socks because she was cold (and they were his) and ordered everything that sounded good on the menu. Soup, salad, burgers, onion rings, sundaes. Her appetite was giant and hungry that morning. Maybe it was the happiness. Ariadne was so freakin happy thinking about Arthur. How perfect he was turning out to be.

Arthur walked in on her hyperactively dancing in his shirt and navy blue ankle socks (which came up to her shin). Obnoxious pop music blared through the room and made it impossible to think. Trays and trays of food were set out but covered up, waiting on him to be devoured. She didn't notice him for a good long while which gave him the chance to observe her loud wailing, headbanging, ponying, monkeying, jumping, brief rapping to herself in the mirror while throwing gang-signs with her hands, hip-shaking, twirling and flirtatious 'come hither' motions towards the floor lamp (in a way that only _she_ could make him jealous of furniture with). Arthur carefully placed his briefcase down by the door, peeled off his suit jacket, hung it up and stepped out of his shoes. He didn't want to be noticed yet. (That shouldn't be a problem.) Going against everything he ever believed in, he got on the ground and crawled through the entrance and behind the desk. He waited for the right moment to pounce and sling her in circles by her waist. "AH!" Ariadne screamed at the top of her lungs before she figured out it was him from looking in the mirror. When he set her down with an amused glint, she blushed from head to toe. "Hi…" Arthur could tell she was embarrassed he'd caught her recklessly dancing about her room (After all, he was back an hour early) but she had no reason to be. The Point Man was proud he'd made her that cheerful.

Arthur circled an arm around her shoulder protectively and glowered at the floor lamp, "I don't appreciate you making moves on my Architect." Ariadne half laughed and face-palmed. "What was it you were doing to it?" He turned to face her and wiggled his shoulders, bending his fingers over and over, "Something like this?"

Ariadne pushed his shoulder, "Don't make fun of me!"

"I'm not. I'm dancing with you." Throwing caution to the wind, he began doing the robot and moves he remembered Michael Jackson trying on MTV as a kid. "You like that?"

"This is exactly the level of geekiness I imagined…" Ariadne laughed at his dorkiness (no wonder he refused to take her dancing in that club) and resumed her flailing and mouthing the words which he unsuccessfully tried to do too. The radio guys came back on at the end of the song and the Architect went to shut their blabbering off. Arthur was admiring her with his eyes when she pivoted back. He'd plopped back on the edge of her bed and was loosening his tie, "Why are you so adorable?"

"Question is," She sauntered closer, shoved him so his back collided with the mattress and laid on him, "will you please dance like that in public and let me record it for proof?"

Arthur scoffed and vowed, "No, no, no. Those moves will never see the light of day."

Her eyelashes batted, "Pretty please? For me? Just in the town square."

"Sorry." His hands roamed around on her back, "You're the only one allowed to see that disaster."

"Lucky me," she rolled her eyes and rolled off of him too. Arthur pouted when he felt her heat and weight leave him. She'd skipped over to the food and was opening everything with eager eyes. He sat back up, "So, what do you say to getting us a big suite to stay in together for the rest of the trip? We would have a living area and a kitchenette."

She popped a grape in her mouth and stirred some loaded potato soup, "I say book it."

xxxxxxx

Practically living together was great…for the first two weeks. It was most likely a combination of those two weeks plus the week and a half they'd already been there when they merged rooms but Ariadne was suffering from cabin fever. Arthur constantly worked, he took breaks to eat, bathe, sleep and he kissed her when he could but on the whole he stayed glued to the seat at the desk. She woke up with him gone every morning. Usually went to sleep at night without him. Sometimes he would crawl into bed after midnight for some lovemaking and a nap but on the whole it was like she was in Germany alone. Which, she understood he was working. He was here for work not her. And she tried not to be a distraction but then she had to do something for herself besides laying around in various places in the suite.

Arthur came back from his errand in town just after noon and Ariadne was nowhere to be found. The tv in their bedroom was still on, the bed looked like she just rolled out of it. No trace of room service for breakfast. No note. Nothing. Just absence. So he called her and there was no answer. Maybe she decided to eat out somewhere for lunch or visit the museum across the street. But then dinner rolled around and she wasn't back. And she hadn't called or answered any texts. By nine o' clock, Arthur couldn't focus on his research. He called the museum and found out she had visited it but earlier that morning. He looked up her credit cards to see if she'd made any recent purchases that would locate her but there was nothing. No charge since the museum at 11:02. The Point Man was pacing the room, thinking furiously about what horrible things could've happened to her, nearly stressed to tears when—

"Hey." Ariadne breezed in, tossed her sling to the foot of the bed and shrugged her jean jacket off. She looked alright. Her hair was tussled from the wind but other than that she looked no worse for the wear. No bruises, no cuts, no tears, no panic. Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. Except once he was relieved that she was alive, he was incredibly annoyed at her for scaring him half to death, "I've been calling your phone."

"Oh yeah," the white rectangular device was grabbed out of the front pocket of her bag and plugged up to charge on the wall, "it died." After that she went back to her bag to retrieve some paper ones inside and plopped onto the couch with them. Out of one she pulled three new triangles of fabric out. Scarves…beautiful silk ones that she carefully folded and placed on the coffee table along with a souvenir water-globe. So she did go shopping. Must've used cash.

Arthur pointedly looked at the clock on the wall. He didn't need to check it to know what time it was, he'd been obsessively glancing at the time every two minutes for several hours now, "Are you aware it's almost nine o'clock?"

Ariadne snorted, "I'm sorry. I didn't realize I had a bedtime," and placed tiny wooden figures on the table. Trinkets she bought for James and Philippa.

"I didn't know where you were…" His arms crossed as he stood in on the other side of the coffee table like he was scolding her. "You could've had the courtesy to leave a note so I wouldn't worry."

Great. The honeymoon phase was over and now they were going to start arguing constantly. Ariadne didn't want to contribute to that but she couldn't help herself, she had to retaliate, "I didn't know I was going to be gone that long."

"What were you even doing anyway?" Ariadne didn't LOVE shopping. She couldn't have honestly done that for over twelve hours that day never mind the fact that she hadn't purchased enough to garner that many hours. The museum across the street wasn't that big, it couldn't have taken her over two hours to do that either. And where was she that she couldn't stop back by to check in or even find a damn payphone to let him know she was alright?

"I don't have to _answer_ to you." Ariadne stood from the couch. This wasn't happening. She was going to go have a nice soak by herself in the tub with her new bath salts and ignore him until he cooled down. "Besides, you go off for hours and hours without telling me where _you_ go."

"But _I'm_ working." Arthur gestured to the computer.

The Point Man voice. Hell no, she wasn't putting up with the Point Man voice. "No, I get that. You're always working." Her fingers danced around as she pretended to type in the air. "And you were working today so I went exploring." Then her arms folded across her chest and her head tilted defiantly, "What do you expect me to do? Sit by myself in this hotel room all day and wait for you to have a second to spare me? You know…subtitled tv, room service and twiddling my thumbs is starting to drive me crazy." The Architect half yelled as her cabin fever returned in full throttle.

"Excuse me for not shirking my responsibilities to cater to your every whim." Arthur sarcastically apologized and gestured to his computer again, "I'm being paid for my services."

Just as facetiously, Ariadne held her empty hands up, "Sorry I don't pay you."

The one thing about the Architect? When her temper got going, she saw a lot of ill intent that wasn't there. "That isn't what I meant." No Arthur meant that he was obligated to complete his tasks because he'd already been compensated. It wasn't like he'd rather bury his nose in the computer over her. "I'm in Germany for a specific reason."

"And what's my reason?" She squinted. Her mouth got tight with irritation, "Apparently, it's so you'll have someone in your bed when you feel a little hot and bothered. Because other than that we don't really see each other." Which was true. The only time they spent together was on his breaks and those times he always felt like making out. They hadn't even eaten a meal and looked at each other and actually talked in a week or more. It couldn't be the truth but it felt like he was using her for physical release and little else on his business excursion to Berlin.

He caught that implication and it irked him. Arthur reminded her more emphatically, "I'm _working_!"

"And I'm passing time while you do!" yelled the woman leaning over the coffee table and into his face, "So get off my back!"

Yelling. He didn't want there to be yelling. Arthur retracted and made his case, "You've been gone all day; I've been worried about you."

"I'm surprised you even noticed," rolled her obnoxious muddy eyes.

"Don't." He held up one finger. (WHAT THE HELL. She wasn't a five year old he could slap on the wrist.) What did she expect him to do? He told her upfront he was going for recon not a vacation. "I'm sorry I've been busy. You knew we were coming for me to work. If you expected me to spend 24/7 following you around like a puppy, you shouldn't have come."

Her (loud) mouth formed a perfect O. She seized one of the shopping backs on the couch and yanked a box out of it while chiding "You're right. I shouldn't have. I don't know why two months with _you _sounded like fun to me." Ariadne threw the box at his desk, nearly missing his laptop. "Here!"

"What's that?" probed the Point Man, his eyes turning into slits.

"A present for your highness that I wish I didn't get." The woman stormed away from Arthur taking her purse, snatching her jacket and room key and marching out the door again.

The mention that she'd gotten something for him made guilt trickle into his gut, "Ariadne," he rubbed his temple, "Where are you going?"

"Away from you." Her voice carried without looking back and the door slammed shut.

Curiously, he opened the box. Ariadne had gotten him a keyboard cover (his keys were admittedly wearing down) and a new wireless mouse. High quality. An A engraved on the bottom. Damnit. Arthur sat in his desk chair and prepared for the headache to set in.

xxxxxxx

_I feel closer to the clouds, I'm touching all the highest leaves  
On top of the trees, My desires release  
So we let it rain on our skin  
Your holding me hand, I'm holding your life  
And I feel like I'm one with you  
All I want is to rock your soul  
All I want is to rock your soul  
-_Rock Your Soul by Elisa_  
_

So…I know, it was a bittersweet chapter! First I love you's and *wink wink* but also first fight. Where do you think Ariadne is going? Can't wait to hear your thoughts, lovelies. =) Until next time!


	20. Crazy in Love

**Attention TammyMT and MinnieMouse33: **I did thank you in the last chapter but all the periods in between the letters got screwed up on fanfic. Tammy your thank you was after Lauraa-x's and it's an italic colon and then CAPS and a smiley face. Minnie yours just showed up as 33 and yours was the separate thank you right before the bold chapter title. Sorry for the mixup!

Thank yous for this chappie: _kamarooka: _No I LOVE the excessive exclamation points! Haha yeah at least they didn't fight over the last glass of milk or something. That would've been stupid. About wanting to slap them both…I wouldn't be a consistent writer if I didn't keep you guys wanting to slap them. ;) _wilddarkhaunt: _Well I loved your two identical reviews and the explanation. Hehehe. It's cool. Sometimes the site can take up to thirty minutes for a review (or even a chapter update too!) to show up where it's supposed to. Really not the first time that's happened and someone has come back and been like HEY THAT WAS ME. Me too about siding with only Ariadne (but I also know moooooore details (and you will too soon) about why she was really upset) for the fight. Arthur has good intentions, believe that, he just still sucks at communication sometimes. _Lauraa-x: _Well it is a suite. And when I say suite I mean like a penthouse. With a kitchenette and dining area and living area and two bedrooms and bathrooms…so if they needed space they could sleep in different beds if they wanted. Not like being crammed in one small average hotel room. That's how I justified it to myself. _Numbah435spiritsong: _Yes, hopefully. Thank you! _Amelia-Rose: _You're right! He better!

Special shout out to: _Hella Monetza _for favoriting and following With You!

**Please remember** that they'd been in Germany a while in separate rooms before the first 'I love yous' chapter. When we looked in on them in Germany the first time they'd already been there. And the day Ariadne went out by herself and the fight and ultimately the goings on in this chapter were roughly one to two weeks after that. It seems like they're moving super-fast in their relationship but they're not really, I promise. It's not day after day they cross a milestone.

**Chapter 20: Crazy In Love**

Ariadne found a bar and loitered there. She didn't drink, just observed the people playing billiards and amusing drunkards. A single woman had been stood up and was drowning her sorrows in beer two stools down from Ariadne (who had a lemon water). Her English was broken but she spoke it well enough despite the slur that Ariadne could understand her. They talked for most of Ariadne's visit there about the many museums in Berlin. Turned out the other lady was a tour guide for the Kathe Kollwitz Museum and was well versed in art, history and curating because of such, so her extensive knowledge and interpretation of artists and their work was enthralling to the Parisian. How had Ariadne been here two months and only seen one of the many museums the city had to offer? (And it wasn't from the top ten, either.) She spoke of the intense intimacy in the etchings and sculptures depicting the country's working class in the privately owned area she worked. The woman, Gitta Klein, dazzled the Architect with descriptions of the Neues—a once World War ruin rebuilt and refurbished by British architect David Chipperfield. The space, textural details and collection of antiquities persevered therein. They spent an hour and a half talking about the Bauhaus Archives alone, somewhere Ariadne vowed she _had _to see before she went home, the museum of design. After that, they got lost in the Allied Museum and Topography of Terror, places of Germany's dark past that weren't for the faint of heart. They left at the same time and waited on the curb for separate cabs together. Ariadne had no qualms about exchanging phone numbers and planning lunch. Or promising to give Gitta a ring if she decided to visit the Kathe with or without company.  
xxxxxxx

Arthur remained on his computer a good twenty minutes after their fight and Ariadne's curt storm off but he couldn't keep his head in the work after that. He shouldn't have gone off on her; he should've taken a step back and approached her rationally. And he shouldn't have said half the things he did. The Point Man paced the suite. He didn't bother calling; she left her phone there. He paced the hallway. He racked his brain for a sufficient way to say he was sorry. It wasn't their first fight ever…they'd had plenty in the time they'd known each other. But it was their first as a couple and somehow that made it worse than all the others. He was sitting on the couch in the semi dark and complete silence when the noise of a key card and the door handle finally sounded. It was six minutes after three am…Arthur was beginning to worry she'd stay away all night. His head shot to the door when it opened and he stood promptly to face her because he wanted to say something. The Point Man told himself it was too dark for her to notice him because she paid no mind. The woman stalked past. All too hastily, Arthur grabbed the bouquet of purple flowers lying on the coffee table and followed her to the bedroom only to have the door slammed in his face. Hope dribbled into him when he heard the bathtub running water. Perhaps, she just wanted privacy while she bathed and would open the door to him later. Maybe she truly hadn't seen him in the darkened suite. He waited and waited on pins and needles. When the door finally opened, he gave her a minute before he padded in with the flowers and a tub of ice cream to talk.

But she was already in bed with the lights off, the blankets around her ears and a pillow in the middle of the bed to separate them if Arthur joined her. With sickening clarity, he noticed the bedroom was cleaner than it'd ever been. None of her clothes were strewn around, none of her shoes under the bed or in the corner. None of her things on the desk or bedside table. The only things of hers visible were a packed suitcase and messenger back sitting neatly at the edge of the bed.

Ariadne was going to leave him.  
xxxxxxx

Ariadne woke to a vase of purple tulips on her nightstand. An elaborate white bow hung around the neck of the vase with a flourish and hanging from the ribbon was a small card reading 'I'm sorry.' Ariadne squinted at the display, then rolling her eyes and sensing the pillow was gone, rolled to the middle of the bed and let her arm fall to the other side. WHACK. Instead of empty bedding, it hit skin. A shirtless Arthur who sat reading a book, looked to her cautiously.

"…I wasn't expecting you there." Usually when Ariadne woke, the Point Man was already dressed and engaged in research if not entirely out of the suite. How early did she wake up? She tossed to look at the alarm clock and the red blocky numbers confused her. They couldn't be right. She turned back, "You know it's ten forty-three right?"

"Yes." The book closed and was set aside for him to uncomfortably announce, "I'm taking the day off."

Ariadne yawned and sat up, rubbing her eyes, "Why?" Better question was: _why_ was she talking to him? She was supposed to be upset. (He was also supposed to be out of the suite so she could leave in peace, damn it.)

Arthur followed suit in sitting up, "I hate fighting with you," and kissed her shoulder tenderly. Remorsefully.

"It wasn't really a fight," shook the girl's head. That was a lie. Yes it was. It was a huge blowout.

"I upset you." He kept his chin on her shoulder, "And we went to bed without speaking. I couldn't sleep."

The Architect's eyes rolled again. He got shot a dumb look, "It wasn't that big a deal."

"I came back and you were gone and I couldn't get a hold of you all day. We're in a strange country, we're involved in an illegal business and…I was just petrified that something had happened to you." The dark curls of the Architect were tucked behind her ear and smoothed back behind on her shoulder, "That's all it was. I didn't mean to sound like the old patronizing Arthur." A searing kiss marked her neck, "And of course I don't expect you to spend your time here pining after your too-busy boyfriend. But please don't go. I'll make the rest of the trip worth your while. I promise."

Well…the woman ogled the top of her suitcase peeking over the edge of the bed. It wouldn't take her long to messy the room up again. When he put it that way…and touched her so lovingly…and apologized so convincingly…she had to relent, "It's really not that bad. I over-exaggerated."

"No you didn't. I'd like to make it up to you today though." Arthur rocked back to his bedside table, opened the drawer and pulled out a brochure to hand to her. "I made the arrangements last night but we can cancel if it's not what you feel like doing." The girl unfolded it. Boats and water and the beautiful German coast graced the pages. "I rented a boat at Dock Warnemunde. It's a bit of a drive but I thought a day out on the water would be relaxing."

"This looks perfect," avowed Ariande. Her gaze remained intent on the paper, taking in the colors, almost smelling the sea water and feeling the breeze. "But are you going to get in trouble for skipping a day?"

Scrunching his face, the Point Man shook his head, "Not as long as I meet the deadline." Then his forehead nudged her shoulder like some baby animal. He was so strange sometimes…Ariadne laughed to herself. "So will you forgive me now?" Her lips pursed and Arthur was thumped in the chest with the brochure, "There's nothing to forgive, moron."

After placing it neatly back on his nightstand he whined, "It hurts my feelings when you call me derogatory names."

"I only belittle you because I _love_ you," badgered Ariadne. Her feet peeked out from the sheet, fixing to slide out of bed and onto the plush ivory carpet to start her morning (most people's lunch time) routine. The Point Man took hold of her diminutive ankles and tucked them back in before holding his body weight off of her but lying on top. "I will _never_ get tired of hearing of that."

"I don't know. I think we should lay off..." she frowned. Kittenishly. "As much as we've said it the past few days? We're going to wear the word out." He couldn't help that he was propelled to proclaim it so often. How could he refrain? Particularly when her tiny magical fingers clasped behind his neck like they were. And when her eyes sucked him in like the pull of the moon on the tides like they were. And when she looked so downright stunning beneath him, face flushed from rigorous sleep, hair wild like every morning. See? It already required saying again.

"Fine." The man exhaled exasperatedly. "How about: I adore you…?" a feather light kiss dropped on her nose and made her giggle. "Or I venerate you," then tasted her lips and made her hum. "I fancy you," then pecked at the hollow of her neck. Ariadne played along, impishly sighing and laying the back of her hand on her forehead, "Ohhh, Mr. Darcy…"

"Or: I'm irresponsibly mad for you..." The Architect felt him smile into her skin and one of his hands toy with her tank top and slither under to run over her bare stomach. The contrast of his rough callouses against her downy flesh never failed to give her goose bumps.

"Arthur, as much as I appreciate you showering me with synonyms," An evil simper took over her visage while her hand drew his out from under her shirt (at the edge of her bra) and she sat up, "we're never going to make it to the boat if we don't get out of this bed."

The Point did his utmost to coax her with Eskimo kisses as his weapon of choice, "A day in bed with you sounds like heaven. Let's cancel."

"No way," she scooted from underneath him onto the ground and headed to the bathroom. The Architect appreciated his whine of complaint. The clock struck eleven.

Ariadne sprinted back to dive her hand under her pillow while Arthur opened his nightstand drawer. He pulled out his laser pointer and aimed it at her first, "Bang!" The Architect jolted—hand under her pillow— and face planted forward into the mattress. Then her legs gave out and the woman collapsed on her back on the floor. Arthur crawled to the edge of the bed and shook his head at her tongue hanging out the side of her mouth. "You fake death so theatrically."

"That's part of the fun!" the girl rolled up and continued on her way to the bathroom. First, she stopped at the desk and put a tally-mark next to Arthur's name. It's ok; she was still winning by a landslide.

Xxxxxxx

The seas weren't rough but moved adequately enough to create a gentle rock on the boat. The sun shone its brightest like a spotlight on the waters and comfortable gusts kept it from getting too hot. When Arthur rented the moderately sized yacht, he was provided a crew to steer the ship so all he and Ariadne had to do was sit out on the deck and enjoy the perfect weather.

Arthur donned not only khakis that fine day but shorts at that. They were long enough to cover part of his knee but again, they were shorts and Ariadne entertained herself the entire ride to the dock by poking fun at him about them, "My, my, so much skin…" (and puckishly sneaking circles on his bare knees when he wasn't looking to get a funny reaction). It got chilly in Berlin in the evenings so Arthur was able to justify his sweater. It was a light blue crew neck rolled up to his elbows. The Point Man also _courageously_ went without socks (it would've been a: too hot and b: ugly to have worn them) and some sandals. The Architect pretended to faint when she saw them because the last thing she expected him to own was flip flops.

Whereas Arthur's outfit could pass for street clothes, Ariadne's was very beachy. She'd worn a plain yellow sundress as a cover-up but it was tossed back into her bag as soon as they stepped foot on the vessel. Underneath was a red and white polka dotted two piece in true fifties style with the thick halter strap and high-waisted bottoms. She let her curls loosely fly around because they stayed out of her face as long as her big white sunglasses acted as a headband. And to top it all off, she wore bright red lipstick. Now, normally Ariadne was not the type to wear lipstick or even lip gloss everyday…or any day…only on special occasions. But she told Arthur it matched her suit and if she was gonna go pin-up style she might as well go all the way.

The Point Man was sure she did it purely out of cruel amusement once she saw his response to her suit and the bright contrast of it against her snowy skin and then her dark hair. Expressly since she mischievously brushed her fingers across the patches of his exposed skin but refused to let him touch hers. He also thought she might want to see a murder that day because the way he caught some of the crew men staring at her was certainly encouraging one. He'd just discussed with the Captain on where to drop the anchor and was watching her admiringly from the upper deck as she daringly leaned over the railing. Arthur cringed when he involuntarily imagined her falling in; like she'd heard his thought and wanted to freak him out she stepped on the bottom rail and leant over even farther to observe the view. (Her damn foot nearly slipped). One way or another…one of these days Ariadne was going to give him a heart attack and kill him. Either gloriously in bed or tragically off the side of a building. It was sort of inevitable.

The Architect sensed him watching her (and distressing but what was new) so she looked over her shoulder around the empty lower deck for him. No one was there but one of the crew members mopping (was that the right shippy word for it? Swabbing maybe? Or was that just a pirate term?) the deck. After a few seconds, she found him above. He leant against the rail, one elbow bent on it, the other on his hip. So debonair. So confident. Ariadne valued his posture, the way he held himself. Arthur was sturdy, withstanding, unmovable. (And so dang sexy.) The woman turned her body towards him fully and leant both her elbows back on the handrail, beamed up at her man, "This reminds me of summering in New England with my family." The atmosphere that came with sailing not the thoughts about the Point Man running through her head of course. Those were anything but familial.

"Yeah?" He called down and she replied with a smile and affirmative nod. Arthur took a moment to scan the waters before giving the rejoinder, "It reminds me of my father dragging me out with his colleagues to fish in the Pacific."

Ariadne grimaced sympathetically, "Sorry."

"No, those were the good times actually," the man thoughtfully declared. Arthur decided he wanted to be down there with her (surprise, surprise) so he went inside and descended the stairs to her deck. The happy couple stood side by side and watched the bow of the boat cut through the glistening blue until the yacht came to a stop. They small talked more about their childhood summers. Comparing and contrasting. Arthur's father wanted him to have connections in the world of law. He wanted him to learn the lingo, to pick up the habits and characteristics of the business men he spent his time with. So Arthur's break from school was mostly full of golfing, fishing, and sitting quietly in on business lunches and rotary club meetings but it was a time where his father was ( or at least pretended to be) proud of him. Up through the beginning of high school, summer gave Arthur the opportunity to win his father's favor and feel a semblance of closeness to him. Ariadne's summers were all over the place. Sometimes the Bourgeois' would stay home, camp, horseback ride and swim in the lake behind their house with all the neighbor kids and many times their parents would take them away for a whole summer. They spent a lot of Christmases in Paris but some summers too. And some in a cottage in New England and some in a beach house in Florida and some hiking the Grand Canyon and Niagara Falls. No wonder she was more adventurous. She'd been an explorer since the first grade. Which led them into the discussion of boy and girl scouts. Turns out they were both members. Arthur for the entirety of his elementary years, Ariadne for a year and a half. It was too easy for her…and though she loved nature, she was really only it in for the cookies and by third grade she wanted to take gymnastics and art and ice skating so…

The ice skating didn't turn out so well. She swore up and down she had a permanent bruise on her bottom the entire season she took lessons plus all the other nine year olds were too cutthroat because their parents convinced them they were going to be the next Kristi Yamaguchi (her mother excitedly told her she might be too and Ariadne innocently argued 'but I'm not Asian…'). Arthur loved ice skating. Having grown up in New York, he had regular mother-son trips to the rink at Rockefeller Center. His father rarely had time off. He and his mother would have dinner at Pig n' Whistle, skate at the center and grab cheesecake and hot chocolate on the way home every Friday the month of December.

The gymnastics she was good at because she was too much of a daredevil. And it didn't involve a thin metal blade and slippery ice, just her good ole reliable hands and feet. She took it for two years. Ariadne admitted she was one of those kids who stuck to nothing very long because she desired to do absolutely everything. Including swim team, soccer, photography, horse shows, Titanic club (pre-movie, thank you). That characteristic of hers was really a no-brainer. As well as the characteristic of Arthur's to stick to something until completion. (The only exception being his short-lived career as a drama club member in seventh grade. Peter Pan, which he'd rather not describe to the Architect again). He received all his badges from the Eagle Scouts before moving to karate in which he stayed until he earned his black belt. He tended to do most of his extra-curriculars in eighth grade and high school. Newspaper Committee (the editor, fittingly), student government, Mathletes, he played on the basketball team freshman and sophomore year. Ariadne had a hard time grasping that concept if only because imagining teenage Arthur as a jock was out of this world. He fished but that was more of a hobby thrust upon him by his dad.

The two were discussing that his father's favorite thing to bring home to his mother was the fish they caught on days they went out. How Arthur's dad even hired a swordfish expert once to help them catch one each. Not exactly flowers (which he brought her as well) but he explained that his mother loved to cook. Especially gourmet and especially with fresh produce, meats and herbs. So his mom loved the fish too. Specifically because she only got to cook when they were home (and not off in a hotel somewhere) and that's usually the only time and place his dad would or _could_ fish. So seafood and the sound of his mother's chopping meant home.

Arthur had a great (in his opinion) idea, "I bet we could catch something for dinner. Have you ever fished?"

Ariadne pondered, "When I was real little…in the lake with dad and Alex. Even if that counted, I don't remember anything but Alex dropping bait down the back of my shirt, being afraid of stabbing myself with the hook and crying because the fish I caught couldn't breathe in the cooler."

Snickering, the Point commented, "You make it sound traumatic."

"It _was._" Ariadne defended, "I refused to ever go fishing again."

Arthur shrugged with a sly simper, "I'll reteach you if you're not still terrified," because he knew she wouldn't turn down a challenge.

"Bring it." She knew just how to one-up him and his competitiveness. She pulled her shades down over her eyes, pursed her vividly scarlet lips at him and marched off into the boat to look for equipment. Extra sway in those hips.

Arthur's girl was vindictive.  
xxxxxxx

Arthur and Ariadne each had a rod and a line floating out in the water. After he'd gone over the basics of putting the bait on the hook (it was easy for her but she hated it. And not because it was gross, she didn't mind the slimy. She minded piercing through part of a fish and feeding it to another one. It was like encouraging cannibalism. Or fishabalism.) and a few scary trial casts of her line, they waited and waited….

AND WAITED. FOR PETE'S SAKE. Ariadne groaned and popped some crackers into her mouth. "Be patient," cajoled Arthur.

He, for one, relished the flat and quiet time between the cast and the reel-in. The Architect kind of thrived on constant stimulation though. Relaxing she could do. This wasn't relaxing; this was placid and boring.

"Who said I was getting impatient?" she snarled. The thirteen year old attitude and irritated shaking of her rod answered her question for her.

Arthur got a glare for the expression he sent back to her. The all-knowing one. "No one has to say it. You're bouncing your heel up and down. You do that when you start getting tired of waiting."

Ariadne browsed down at her foot and sure enough the Point was right. Yet again. The woman's shoulders moved up and down alternating to mock him, "Well aren't _we_ observant?" Then she nagged, "Stalker." A sigh, "They need to change that saying about 'plenty of fish in the sea' because not one of those hundreds of stupid fish have found my little mally yet."

"Mulie."

He was definitely in teacher mode. She chided, "Oh thank you. I would've died without the proper name."

The Point Man suppressed another chuckle to escape a secondary scowl and settled for enlightening, "Plenty of fish may have seen it; they just haven't taken the bait yet."

Ariadne leveled him a look, "Can you blame them? That _mulie _looked horrible. _I _wouldn't have eaten it." The Architect _did_ have a taste for some peculiar types of sushi so that was saying something.

All of sudden, Arthur's rod jerked and he flew to catch it. "There we go!" He grinned. (Silently bragging Ariadne swore.)

The Architect put one hand on her hip and carped, "That's not fair. I—" Then her rod shuddered and hauled the one arm that limply held it to the edge of the boat before her other arm could join it and tug back. Ariadne wasn't weak by any means but miniscule in body mass? She was. Even putting all her weight into leaning back it still felt like a losing battle of tug-of-war with (what she was positive was) a great white shark.

Impressed, but mainly focused on keeping a grip of his catch, Arthur instructed, "Good, babe! Now to reel it in you—"

Ariadne gritted, "Yeah, yeah, you pull this thing back in circles!"

Arthur yanked and yanked, reeling in intervals before his force shot him backwards and he realized the fish had bitten off the entire line. He cursed a little but tossed his rod to the side to help Ariadne. His form hopped behind her quickly and his arms went around her shoulders to grab hold of the equipment and relieve some of the pressure off of her. "You keep a hold of the rod. I'll reel the sucker in." Arthur guided her in pumping the rod back and took advantage of the loosened line to reel when the rod dropped back down. Widening her stance beforehand, Ariadne leant back with all her might while he fought to turn the reel. Once they got it close enough to the boat to hear it splashing and thrashing about, Arthur asked, "Think you can hold it there while I grab it?" The Architect gave him a big eyes and a gape but braced herself and nodded.

Arthur let go.

After two of his steps away from her, Ariadne was knocked off her feet to her back and dragged across the deck like a bobsledder. Thank God, the railing was there to push against with her feet for strength. "Ari!" He paused and changed course to help her up. Breathily she ordered, "I'm fine! Get the freakin' fish!" The Point grabbed the stick gaff, leant over and hooked the fish, grabbed the line and pulled it up. It was two and a half feet long and gradually discontinuing its squirming.

"Fantastic. That's a _large_ herring." Arthur proudly held it up in display for Ariadne while she pitched her rod aside, crawled and collapsed onto one of the loungers. "That's like a whale," she breathed in awe and shook her aching arms. She signed up for fishing not sea-monster wrangling but she couldn't knock the adrenaline rush and controlled chaos it caused.

"Looks like we'll be having good ol' Brathering tonight."

She added, "And every other meal for the next five years…"

Arthur thought about what would make the Architect the most incredibly happy concerning their foreseeable plethora of left overs, "We can take what we need for dinner and give the rest to some beggars, how's that?" Her eyes and sarcasm softened as she concurred then warned, "I'm not helping cut and clean it though. I already want to give it a name."

"Fight the urge, Architect."

"Frederick Rolffe the Third looks so pale," her face wrinkled.  
xxxxxxx

While a table was brought out, places were set, a few candles were lit and the smell of their dinner wafted in from the kitchen, The Point and Architect sat contentedly beside each other on the deck. Arthur read one of his favorite books, Ariadne doodled and the sunset painted the sky in deliciously warm color. They ate their freshly cooked dinner on the boat's way back into the dock. "What do you think?"

The woman now sat in her yellow cover-up and jean jacket. Once the sun began to go down the chill factor went up, especially on the water where the gusts of wind came frequent. She regretfully had to admit Arthur was smart for wearing his sweater. Anyways, she finished chewing her last bite of Brathering and praised it, "It's way better than a sandwich from the deli or sausage and lentil stew, I'll give it that."

Arthur snickered and sipped more of the wine he ordered specifically. A dry red for him and a light white wine for her. "Can I ask you a very serious question?" His hands then clasped on the end of the table, his stare hard.

"Yes….?" The reply was more of a question than an answer. Especially with the pitch of her tone at the end and the shrinking of her eyes. It was a reflex to begin fidgeting under his gaze.

"Mint chocolate chip or white chocolate raspberry?"

Over her shoulder, the waiters held out two large waffle cone bowls full of ice cream for her to choose from. Arthur didn't really care for mint ( it was the green kind and he was more of a red peppermint man) but she knew he'd eat it sans complaint if she chose the bowl to her right (which looked so, so, so astoundingly yummy considering raspberries were her favorite fruit). She also knew that Arthur was a sucker for anything white chocolate (including the cookies and crème Hershey drops she brought in her carry on…he ate more than half the bag) so she chose the bowl to her left so he could have it. They'd most likely exchange a spoonful or two anyways. "Mmm…" she graciously accepted the dessert spoon and dug in, "ice cream is _the _way to my heart."

"I hadn't noticed…" he secretively nodded at one of the waiters to bring out the small cake.

"I fancy you sooo much right now, Point Man," Ariadne acclaimed, licking off melted cream from the underneath her lip and breaking part of her waffle bowl.

Arthur beamed, "Thank you for my gift yesterday, by the way," then frowned, "I'm sorry I didn't realize it was our two month anniversary. And that we commemorated it with a fight. And I said awful things to you that I didn't mean…like suggesting you shouldn't have come."

The Architect stilled, looked up at him and let her spoon rest on the edge of the bowl. She honestly was beginning to think he had no idea. Almost used to the notion that he didn't keep track (he was busy, he probably didn't even know it was a Tuesday or what month they were in) and that they really wouldn't ever celebrate an anniversary together. Or you know maybe he only considered six months or a year to be milestones worthy of acknowledging. Who knew? But the Architect had decided not to say anything or push it. That's why that morning she had watered it down and not gotten into why she was really upset with him. It wasn't entirely because he paid her no attention, she didn't expect 24/7 attention on a work-trip that he courteously paid for her to come along on…it wasn't even because she spent that day alone. Or that he didn't remember. It was because she didn't bring it up and spent that day alone so he could do his job without worrying about orchestrating something special (because he would) and then he'd gone bat shit on her when she came back (late because the engravers for his new mouse fit in her in just before closing and then took their sweet time). "It's no biggie."

"It's a big biggie," It's a wonder how he said it with a straight face. Ariadne snorted before he grabbed one of her hands with both of his, "Especially since we didn't celebrate our first month because of run-throughs for the job in Rome. I don't want you to think this isn't special to me."

"I don't think that."

Just then a decadent fudge cake was placed on the table. Elaborate swirls and icing flowers adorned the edges and in the middle chocolate sauce was drizzled to form the words 'Happy Anniversary' and in smaller scroll 'You were worth every shot.'  
xxxxxxx

"Come on. You enjoy it. Plus, aren't you always the one trying to coerce _me _into dancing?" Arthur smugly simpered down at her, holding one of her hands to the side and one against his chest, lightly pulling her about the deck. The lights from the shoreline easily shone into view like fallen stars residing on earth as the boat neared closer to the dock.

Cruelly, Ariadne curled in the fingers of the hand against his pectoral, teasing him with the light scratch of her nails through his clothing and making his eyes glaze over. "Yes, but there's normally music. And we're on solid ground not something both moving forward and rocking side to side. We both know I'm not as coordinated as you are." The boat decided to back her up with hard proof and swayed so she tripped over her feet sideways. He remained unmovable. Balancing bastard…

"Then how about…" smoothly, he moved the hand pressing hers into his chest to wrap around the entirety of her waist. With one arm he lifted her up, her feet onto his, pressed her flush against him, "…I help you out?"

"What about music?" grinned the woman cheekily. It was super simple then, she just wrapped her free arm around his neck and let Arthur do all the work. Balance, move their legs, hold her up, whatever.

"Our theme song," Arthur laughed like it was the most obvious solution.

Ariadne furrowed her eyebrows, "You want to dance like this to 'You Dropped a Bomb on Me'?" While catchy, it was in the opposite mindset of the way their bodies were touching. The sweet, starry eyed sort of feel she imagined they were going for at the moment.

There the Point Man negatively bobbed his head, "Beauty and the Beast. Isn't that who Pippa says we're just like?"

She shrugged one shoulder the best she could and admired the lights from the dock (which were once like microscopic dots) get larger and larger. Admired the gradually appearing outlines of buildings. " _Just _like?You haven't given me a library."

"Yet."

Just to be difficult she brought up another plot point in the story, "Or saved me from a pack of wolves…"

"I saved you from Gavin. Does that count?" He grinned shamelessly as she lightly slapped his chest then teased him. "I thought you didn't _believe_ in fairytales. You said they were impossible."

"Well, I _believe _this is as close to a fairytale as you can get in reality." Arthur knew she'd melt at that. He began humming what he could remember of the title melody, "_Da-da-da-da-daaa, da-da-da-da-DA, da-da-da-and strange…uh...learning..._"

Ariadne took pity on the poor beast and took over, "_learning you can change. Learning you were wrong. Certain as the sun…"_

"_Sun…" _he copied.

Rolling her eyes, the Architect trudged on. She guessed since he was literally doing the legwork she could lead him in song, "_Rising in the east. Tale—"_

"Oh, I know this part," Interrupted the man a tad too excitedly. They both finished it out: _"Tale as old as time, song as old rhyme, Beauty and the Beast." _

"You're so corny." Ariadne remarked when they were done.

Pressing their noses together and feeling the boat slow to a stop in the harbor, Arthur smiled, "You like it."

xxxxxxx

As promised, they gave out leftovers to the needy on their way back to the hotel. Ariadne showered, threw on her pj's and then jumped onto the bed to relax against her pillow. "Thank you for today, Arthur, I had a blast."

"You're welcome." He tucked away the phone that was in front of his face, "I've truly felt bad for having to leave you every day. And when I stay, then my face is glued to the computer."

Her head shook, "You're here for work. I'll happily take what I can get."

The mention of work reminded him of the reason he'd been texting. He sat up straighter, ecstatic to tell her the news, "You know how after this, I'll have to head to Brazil for a while right?"

Ariadne nodded.

"Cobb contacted me about a job in New York in March. For the both of us."

Just like Arthur knew they would, her eyes basically effervesced with enthusiasm, "Exciting, I'm in."

"I figured but I'll let him know." Arthur grabbed his phone back and promised as he typed, "But after that job is over, I'm whisking you away and we're going somewhere for nothing but pleasure."

The cell got slowly extricated from his hand and hidden under her pillow. "I think we're…" her index finger ran from his hip to his knee and then fell to draw circles towards herself on the mattress, "sort of already in a place for pleasure…" Ariadne's chaste brown eyes said anything but from beneath her lashes and Arthur could see the rawness of her lips from where she tried to scrub the lipstick off when she attempted to harmlessly smile.

Arthur caught the drift and guided her to her back, "You know, for someone so sweet and innocent—" Ariadne pushed his shoulders and rolled them so that she sat on top with a triumphant smirk, "I'm not always an angel..."

"I beg to differ," he argued puckishly while she leant down and pecked at him under the curtain of her freshly washed hair and he blindly felt to turn the lamp off.  
xxxxxxx

Ariadne's toasty and spent body laid lazily strewn over Arthur's in one of his old t-shirts. That's what the Point Man awoke to. A fingertip tracing a scarred circle on his forearm. Afraid that anything above a whisper would ruin the moment and halt her curiosity of his skin, he cut into the night air with a low murmur, "I got that first year of university. Bar fight. Broken beer bottle. From nothing but being stupid." Ariadne's thumb paused—probably surprised he was awake—and then contrary to his inner wishes tucked awkwardly back in a fist that rested on his stomach.

Arthur meditated deeply. There was a litany of things he knew about the Architect in comparison to what she was allowed to know about him. He was in love with a three dimensional person. A woman with a family and friends and a home. With strengths and vulnerabilities, likes and dislikes. A laid out past. Arthur knew each freckle on her body like God knows all the stars by name. He knew the circle burn just below her wrist was from burning herself trying to cook a pizza at thirteen. He knew the small scar on the tip of her middle left finger was from the first time she cut herself with a box cutter. Age nineteen. Unpacking on her second day in Paris. He knew the cut on the left side of her left calf was from a recent shaving incident and that she often jabbed the freckle on her earlobe when putting in earrings because she mistook it for her piercing hole. She had a sideways heart shaped birthmark on the back of her neck under her hairline which was always neatly hidden under scarves because she thought it looked like a butt. (Not the reason she wore scarves, just a plus) And she had nickel sized blob-looking one on the inside of her right thigh that Arthur called her raincloud. Who did Ariadne feel like she was in love with? A stranger? A ghost? An elusive façade? There was only so long you could spend with someone you didn't really understand. There was only so long he could hold on to her if he remained a mystery. Ariadne would get frustrated or bored or scared…and leave. Without a second thought he sat up, removed his shirt and requested, "Pick a scar and I'll tell you everything about it."

She scanned him silently and curiously (delight alight in the bright brown flecks of her orbs). The Point Man felt the expanse of her palms roaming over his back and closed his eyes to get lost in the tenderness of the contact. The way she made the broken, duct-taped pieces of him meld back together. Then she stopped just below his left shoulder blade and brushed her fingers across a patch of discolored skin (from the scarring). He grimaced, the memory immediately came to the forefront of his mind. "That's from Mal. When she lost her mind, I went to visit them. Dom hadn't told me anything so I had no idea. She believed I was a projection and she tried to stab me in the back to prove it to him. It wasn't that deep."

"That must've been awful." Ariadne contemplated it. When her big imagination projected the shade she remembered driving a knife into her…driving one into the man before her but in reality? She shook her head to rid it of the vision and caught sight of a small scrape on the back of his right ear. "This one?" Her breath tickles it to alert him of which one she's speaking of.

Arthur chuckled so the injury must not have been a dramatic experience. "Training exercise at West Point." The Point Man fought another chuckle when she gasped like the secret of the universe had been revealed. "So you _were_ in the military? That was one of my theories about you."

Theories. Arthur had pages upon pages of files and stats on her. He knew the girl before he actually ever met her. There were hard facts he'd used to build up his respect, admiration and then devotion to Ariadne. He'd only given her theories, fantasies, daydreams and wild stories she could think up. There was a newfound insecurity crawling on his skin. What if she was in love with the idea of the Arthur she'd made up in her mind? Not the one sitting bare in front of her. If she found out the truth, the hard facts and files and stats…would she change her mind? "I trained at West Point but I was only deployed twice. Thus:" Arthur pointed to several scars. First, was the large burn mark he was sure she hadn't missed on his lower back, "Burn from civilian bomb same cause for the one on my left thigh," and then small barely dime-sized circles on his shoulder, tricep and left rib. "Bullet, bullet, bullet from a fellow soldier—it was an accident."

Arthur enjoyed her raised eyebrows. The way she looked at his body different than before. How her gaze regarded each mark with amazement. Astonished by how much it'd taken and survived. Like all the discolorations and scars and lines and scabs he was insecure about were works of art. "How did you get out of the army?"

"On my second deployment, I took a tumble from the second story of a building and fractured one of the disks in my spine. Had to have surgery." The Architect's index and middle finger were moved and pressed against a soft spot in the middle of his spine, "They deemed me unusable although I'm perfectly fine. They gave me an honorable discharge."

The girl then traced fresh (?) red lines down his upper back, "What are _these_?"

Arthur twisted and grinned proudly at her over his shoulder, "Those are from you, my dear Architect. Don't worry they'll go away…eventually."

Her eyebrows furrowed up—she certainly hadn't remembered that—her face burned cherry red and she covered her face in her hands. Out of the heat of the moment, it was mortifyingly embarrassing. "Oh God…"

"That's what you said when it happened too," Arthur's roguish chortle tormented her.

"Arthur!" half scolded and half whined the Architect, "Shut up!"

Taking a break from the map of injuries on his back, Ariadne maneuvered herself to sit more in front of him now. There was one she had seen many times, even kissed. An incision mark an inch long on his lower stomach. Right side, a bit above the hip. She poked it hard in an effort to get back on track and make him stop snickering, "What's this one?"

"Appendicitis. Age eleven."

Her head tilted and offered, "I had my tonsils taken out at eleven."

He just nodded. Suddenly, Ariadne's face scrunched and her hand flew up to a nasty looking scar under his left pectoral. Concerned eyes bored into his with askance. "This is from my twelfth job. It was in Chelyabinsk, Russia. I was twenty four. Our mark caught on and I was knifed by one of his cronies in the alley as we tried to escape. Almost didn't make it. Dom said he was surprised I had any blood left in my body by the time he got me to a hospital. I've always wondered myself why I actually pulled through on the table." If the size of her eyes could grow any more, they did. Followed by a hard swallow at the thought of the possibility of never meeting him. Arthur leaned back against the headboard, "Only recently did I appreciate that some force in my body demanded I hang on because I hadn't met you yet. And it knew I needed to. That somewhere in the world, a nineteen year old Ariadne Bourgeois was waiting for me."

"Arthur…" she breathed and placed a kiss on the death-defying spot.

"You saved me before I knew you even existed—I think."

The Architect may have half-laughed because she didn't realize he was serious. His hands folded into his lap and he started rambling off, "My full given name is Arthur Jonathan Talesco. Born November 12th, 1985 to Roberto and Maria Talesco. It's Italian. No my father was not in a mob but my great, great uncle was. My mother's side is a mix of Cuban, American and Spanish. I have no idea why they named me Arthur. I was born and mostly raised in San Francisco, California—an only child—then when I was twelve my father decided to pick up and move us to New York City. I spent more time in hotels than either of the homes we lived in which must attribute for my ability to live out of them now. My mother was sweet and did all she could to support whatever I wanted. I was on my father's good side while I played along and interned at the firm and forced myself to study to be a lawyer one day…our relationship went down the tubes when I enlisted for West Point before graduation and kept it from him until the letter came in the mail. After I was discharged, I decided I wanted to study psychology in a foreign country and I met Miles and Mal in France. Through them, Cobb. I started assisting him in dream share for the money but stayed for—well, you know. It's been work ever since."

"Wow." The girl's head jutted back in shock that he'd shared so much. The onslaught of information—the millions of details she'd wondered about him for years—revealed in close succession was a lot to take in. Ariadne felt she was special to the Point Man before but these few moments in the dark solidified it. It was no longer implied, it was well-known. These were specifics a handful of people were privileged to know or smart and determined enough to dig up. She blinked. He unexpectedly kept going.

"I…I started closing myself off from people when—when my mother died. The realization that…" Arthur found it difficult to keep her gaze for this portion of his show and tell, so he averted his eyes to the wall across from them and the powered off television. "That one day you will lose everyone you care about…was too intense for me. So I just decided not to care about anyone. This was easy. My mother was all the family I considered myself to have. There were a few friendships from school, none of them lasted. I'd already made the mistake of getting close to Miles and the Cobbs. Stephen was—is—the father I've always wanted and I felt a sense of obligation and loyalty to Dom and Mal for training me. For taking me in, giving me a job, supporting me where my parents fell short. I decided from there on out, I would be a closed off ambiguous mystery to anyone else and found it earned me more respect anyways. I steeled up. Lacking a better way of phrasing it, at twenty, I bottled up my humanity and buried it with my mother."

Once Arthur's eyes fixed back on her, he noticed how shiny hers were. Not from curiosity or marvel or excitement or interest. Not fiery with the blitz of new and secret statistics. They were misty with shared sentiments. Ariadne clearly felt his troublesomeness, his anguish, his struggle ( even the one he fought tooth and nail in those moments to open up to her like he was), his melancholy, slight regret. And Ariadne shared it all. She bore into his eyes and lightened the load. From here, they shared more than hearts and kisses and glances and desserts and beds and dreams…they shared sorrows, they shared confidences. Everything. Arthur felt his chest crack open and spill out even more love for her than before like egg yolk.

The girl whispered reassuringly, "You don't have to tell me all this…"

"I want to. I want you to know me like I know you." Whether Arthur registered his actions or not beforehand…it was too late. And he didn't entertain the idea of going back and rectifying it one bit. He opened her palm and dropped his dice into it. "Like the back of your hand." That sentence coupled with the gesture had more meaning in it than possibly the first time he confessed 'I love you.' Because it was utter trust with everything he had. That was giving her his past, his present and hopefully his future. His reality, his dreams, his sanity. That was Arthur cutting himself in half and praying that she made him whole.

His jagged edges sealed up and forgot everything before Ariadne fearlessly marched into his world when she peppered his scarred body with kisses and caresses that healed better than time could.

xxxxxxx

_Your love got me looking so crazy right.  
Your kiss got me hoping you'll save me right now.  
Looking so crazy, your love's got me looking.  
Looking so crazy in love._

–Crazy in Love (cover) by Antony & the Johnsons.  
You need, need, need to listen to this version. It's on youtube. It's a beautiful, beautiful version. And it hearing it before, after or on repeat during part of this chapter is so nice. If anyone looks it up, tell me what you think.

Also how about all this lovey action? Before you say it, I know the dice is a huge deal and it may seem hasty with only a two month dating anniversary but…technically they've known each other and been good friends for years. (not even factoring in dream time) Its not like they met at a bar, dated for two months and he gave her his world ahaha. Plus this decision is planting the seed for something else. Guesses? Also are we enjoying fluffy? Do we want angst back yet? Don't worry. It's approaching. *insert jaws theme here*


End file.
